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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25519984">Lacuna</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyanmai/pseuds/wyanmai'>wyanmai</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:55:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>41,750</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25519984</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyanmai/pseuds/wyanmai</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1980, Sirius modified her memory and sent her abroad, determined to protect her from the horrors of war. In 1995, she steps into Grimmauld Place and back into his life. The Second War looms, and as they struggle with old wounds and new enemies, they find each other once more. This time, neither will let the other go. OotP AU with First War flashbacks. M for sex and violence</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alice Longbottom/Frank Longbottom, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Black/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Caroline</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>December 15, 1980</strong>
</p><p>In the small hours of the morning, Sirius Black Apparated into a Muggle hotel room in the middle of Mayfair, holding an unconscious woman in his arms.</p><p>Gently, he laid her on the feather bed, tucking the covers around her shoulders. He drew the curtains, blocking out the milky dawn light, and allowed himself a moment to smooth a stray curl from her forehead. She was so pale, dark circles under her eyes, but he had managed to heal the cuts and bruises dotting her body. Growing up in a family like his, one learned those charms at a young age.</p><p>She hadn't wanted to tell him about the marks. Just as well. He could imagine how they'd gotten there, and he didn't think hearing about them was good for his self-control at present.</p><p>Clenching and unclenching his fist, Sirius cast a sleeping charm just to be safe—he didn't know how long his complicated memory charm rendered the victim unconscious—and Apparated away to run his errands.</p><p>In the evening, the hotel room was near to overflowing with trunks and suitcases of various sizes. Some were filled with her clothes, others with books, and still others with vinyl records and sheet music frayed from use—all things Sirius had procured from her flat, being careful to leave duplicates behind so that her home would appear undisturbed to the other Aurors.</p><p>Now, sitting beside her sleeping form, he placed his left hand once again over her heart and pointed his wand to her temple, adding modified scenes of his whirlwind packing day onto the tapestry of a life he'd woven in her mind.</p><p>He'd been working on the charm all night, but again he marvelled at the way her physical brain offered no resistance to the touch of his magic, no push against him when he smoothed his fabrication over every inch of her memory. By instinct, she trusted him. In her body and in her mind, she trusted him.</p><p>Sirius swallowed and ignored the leaden ball of guilt growing heavier and heavier in his gut. He had to focus. He'd had to learn the spell theory and execute it the same night, all without practice. One wrong move and all his work might unravel.</p><p>Finally, he folded her elm wand into her hand, then slipped his ebony one next to it, so that she held both against her chest.</p><p>"<em>Néas zois</em>," he whispered, the Greek feeling foreign on his tongue. Then he watched in his mind's eye as her real name lifted from the wand's core, replaced by the final thread of her new identity.</p><p>He sat looking at her for a long time then, drinking his fill of her familiar, beloved face. One day, if they ever managed to win this war—no, when they won this war, Sirius scolded himself—he would have the chance to see her again. Yet in this moment, he had already lost her. When all was over and she reclaimed her memory, she would never forgive him, he was sure. He would certainly never forgive such a breach of trust.</p><p>But this was for the best, and the only way he could keep her safe. Safe from pain. Safe from Voldemort. Safe from the <em>swine</em> who had kept her in hell for weeks.</p><p>And Sirius had learned that he would do anything to keep her safe, no matter what lines he had to cross or what suffering he had to inflict on himself.</p><p>She was his clarity, his warmth, the balm to his restless darkness. He needed her to be somewhere on this earth—living, happy, smiling that sweet serene smile—so this was the only way.</p><p>As the first rays of dawn once again seeped through the darkness of night, Sirius leaned down and kissed her one last time. He let himself linger, barely moving, desperate to sear in his mind the feel of her soft mouth against his.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>They had first kissed in the spring of Sixth Year, tucked in an alcove on their way back from Slughorn's garden party.</p><p>There had been rumors that Slughorn had invited a real-life incubus to the event, and they'd spent half the afternoon deducing which of the many adult guests was the purported sex demon, whispering scathing observations to each other as they surveyed the crowds.</p><p>Their target established, the two had decided to "befriend" the man—who turned out to be a wanker of the first degree. So much so, that they had amused themselves by convincing him that they were his offspring from liaisons with muggle women.</p><p>She had plastered the perfect mix of vulnerability and hope on her face, and the unsuspecting git had been bamboozled from the first. It remained unclear whether he really was the incubus or simply a good-looking wizard with a penchant for womanising.</p><p>Either way, they had enjoyed the fool's bafflement.</p><p>They left the party early and stumbled down the halls, unable to contain their laughter around polite company. Sirius reached for her slender hand, and she didn't pull away.</p><p>Naturally, the ruse had been her idea. Tucked away behind her intelligence and grace was a sharp and dedicated instinct for mischief, the discovery of which had delighted Sirius more than he'd ever thought possible.</p><p>She was a wonder to him, and his parched soul wanted to drink up every discovery, every moment in her presence.</p><p>Half certain that he was pushing his luck, yet unable to help himself, he pulled her onto the dais below a set of bay windows. Late evening sun spilled through the coloured glass panes, making her dark hair glow like a blanket of embers.</p><p>"You're incredible," he whispered.</p><p>Her clear eyes rippled with expectation.</p><p>"Are you going to kiss me then, Sirius Black?" Her voice had its usual chocolate-smooth timbre, but he saw with satisfaction that a blush had bloomed on her pale marble skin. He reached out to run his thumb along her cheekbone.</p><p>"What if I did?"</p><p>"We'd be here a long while."</p><p>Sirius felt his stomach swoop, a new, exciting sensation that at once bewildered him and made perfect sense.</p><p>"Sun's still up," he said, his own voice going hoarse. "We have time."</p><p>"Thank God," he heard her whisper, and then his brain no longer registered anything but the feel of her sweetness against his skin.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>Sirius sat in the lobby of the muggle hotel, his appearance transfigured to look like a portly businessman. He'd ordered a coffee, and now he waited, his nose buried in a muggle newspaper, for her to emerge from the lift.</p><p>He heard a ding. Looked up. There she was.</p><p>Her pallor still frightened him, and her chin was too pointy from weight loss, but the bottles of pepper up potion she'd drunk two nights before had largely erased the general strain of her features and the circles under her eyes.</p><p>Good thing she was going to Austria. The rich food would do her a world of good.</p><p>She looked comfortable, even cheerful, as she strode through the lobby in her brown wool coat and boots, the image of aristocratic ease.</p><p>At the front desk, she signed the check-out paperwork, the handbag at her elbow holding all her trunks in an undetectable extension charm.</p><p>Everything about her—every movement, every expression—was so familiar and normal that Sirius had to remind himself he could not rise from his seat that very moment and slide his hand around her waist. The ball of lead in his stomach was back, and he drained the rest of his coffee, hoping it would help. Of course, it only made the dread grow.</p><p>She was finished at the front desk now, and as she passed by his chair, Sirius took a shuddering breath and said her name.</p><p>Not too loudly, but enough so he was certain she could hear. She did not turn around. He said it again, louder this time. Unreasonably, ridiculously, an unquashable part of him willed her—begged her—to turn around at her name. To show Sirius that his memory charm had been a complete failure.</p><p>But of course, it had not been. Sirius had cast it better than well.</p><p>Naturally, she did not turn around. It was not her name now.</p><p>So that was it then. His spell had worked. This had been the last step, the last instruction the book had given, this testing of the victim's former name. And there was no turning back from here. Guilt and a sense of grave loss twisted, dark and ugly in his mind. Feebly, he reminded himself that this was temporary, that he would undo the charm as soon as it was safe for her, but she would never want to look at him again.</p><p>This would be how it ended for him. Sirius rooted himself ruthlessly to his chair, his nails digging into the leather, as he watched her step out the door and into a waiting cab.</p><p>He was not sure how long he stared, still seeing her in his mind's eye, but his legs were stiff by the time he rose to find James. He had two Death Eaters to find.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>On December 16, 1980, a young witch who called herself Caroline Müller arrived in Vienna by airplane.</p><p>After her muggle parents had died in a house-fire the year before, she had decided to move here, a city her inner musician had always wished to call home. She walked through security like any other muggle, presenting the border officer with a genuine Austrian passport.</p><p>Her parents had been Austrian after all, even if they had spent most of their lives in England.</p><p>In the city, Caroline checked herself into another muggle hotel, then made her way to the nearest leasing agency, jam-filled roll in hand.</p><p>By the end of the workday, she had found herself a Belle Époque apartment in the First District, its long windows overlooking a rare quiet street. By the end of the week, she had enrolled in the Psychological Healer's Institute at The Reinberg, Austria's wizarding hospital—just like she'd wanted to do before the British war had pulled her into emergency medicine. By the end of the month she had made friends, all of whom were too charmed by her quiet wit and underlying streak of mischief to ask why she never talked about her friends back in Britain. Within three years she was a fully certified mind Healer, and it wasn't long before she was known in medical circles as an expert on mental trauma.</p><p>And so, Caroline Müller lived in Vienna, working in the wizarding world, seeing her friends and casually dating, attending muggle symphonies and playing piano as light streamed in through her tall windows.</p><p>There had been a war in Britain, but wizarding Austria was tranquil and at peace. People here still remembered their own war. They still remembered Grindelwald, remembered the fear. Now they lived each day, subdued, relieved that for them, the war had ended in 1945.</p><p>The years sped by, and in Vienna, Caroline was happy.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>
  <strong>July 1, 1995</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Fifteen Years Later</strong>
</p><p>Caroline Müller knew something was wrong the moment she Apparated outside her front door. The air felt disturbed somehow, and though her protective charms showed no sign of tampering, something was still…off. Unstable. She cast a Silencing Charm at the door, then a whispered <em>Protego</em>, and slowly depressed the lock.</p><p>Her apartment took up the entire top floor of the old building, and she preferred Apparating to the landing rather than directly inside. A vestige of her muggle upbringing, perhaps, but appearing inside a home without using the front door had always irked her.</p><p>Lucky that she'd had this quirk. Whoever was inside must not know her well.</p><p>A stunning spell hit her shield charm as soon as she stepped into her foyer.</p><p>Caroline jerked at the impact—she hadn't been on the receiving end of such a spell since her Hogwarts days—but recovered without stumbling. She turned towards the direction the spell had come, the hallway leading to her bedroom, and the sight of her attacker's sneering face sent a sharp tingle down her spine.</p><p>She had never seen him before, she was certain. And yet, there was something in his face that was familiar. Yes, familiar, and so hateful that the very sight made her sick.</p><p>Forcing down the inexplicable bile rising in her throat, Caroline gave her wand an imperceptible flick—a trick she'd perfected at school—and shot a stunning spell before the shield had completely disintegrated.</p><p>But the man had been ready for her move, and the jet of red from her wand hit his own shield. It was like he knew to expect the trick from her, but how could that be?</p><p>Letting none of her surprise show on her face, she persisted in her stunning spells, shooting a barrage at at his head, his chest, his legs, and watched his face twisting with effort as he tried to fend off the sudden splatter of curses. She tried to meet his eyes, to give herself an in to his mind, but it was like he knew to expect that too, and avoided her gaze.</p><p>Before she could gather her wits to forcibly invade his mind, he suddenly lunged to the right, crashing into a side table and avoiding her spells. A stinging hex flew at her chest. Caroline dodged too, barely missing the shower of sparks, and crashed into the wall, her left shoulder jamming painfully.</p><p>She swore under her breath, but pushed herself off the wall. Before he could recover, she cast Oppugno on the broken bits of table leg so they shot towards him like arrows.</p><p>The <em>bastard</em>. That side table had been enchanted by an 17th century witch to perfume the air, and the explosion had surely destroyed the charm. Caroline gritted her teeth.</p><p>She abhorred strangers in her home. This was precisely why.</p><p>Her attacker swore too, but loudly and in English. Unable to slow down all the shooting wood, he took off into her bedroom. The wooden splinters nailed into the door just as he slammed it shut, then he opened it once more to yell "<em>Expulso</em>!" at Caroline.</p><p>So the man had come all the way from Britain to kill her? More confused than ever, Caroline deflected the poorly aimed spell, then sped forward instead of Apparating, blocking his increasingly deadly attacks, the impact perversely satisfying to her rising anger.</p><p>As she reached her bedroom door, he again slammed it to buy himself time, but Caroline blasted it open with a jab of her wand, taking satisfaction in the splintering sound of the wood.</p><p>"Who are you and why could you possibly want to kill me?" she demanded in English, raising her voice over the booming explosion and entering the room to face him.</p><p>He sneered again, ignoring her question, his lanky body coiling as he prepared to aim another spell.</p><p>"Well, so he was right. You really do remember nothing," he snarled, his smooth, aristocratic voice dissonant with his tone, but Caroline barely heard him as he blasted the wardrobe next to her.</p><p>She braced herself against the bedpost, and again tried to find his eyes, but to no avail.</p><p>"I must say I am offended, Montagu. I'd have thought I'd seared my face into your head."</p><p>"What in the—" she leapt back again as he shot more red jets of light at her, but the usually empty space beside the foot of her bed was now occupied by her nightstand, and she stumbled, falling hard against the corner of the table and rolling out of the way of the new hex from his wand.</p><p>It managed to nip her arm, however—a slicing curse she didn't recognise—and red-hot pain burst from the wound.</p><p>She swore again, pain bubbling with mounting anger, and in a second she was up, aiming a shower of stinging hexes.</p><p>He growled as several sparks hit his arm and torso, and turned away, levitating her lamp to protect his face. The hexes shattered it midair.</p><p>"<em>Protego</em>!" They both cried as the shards of the lightbulbs rained down.</p><p>Caroline stepped back, minding her feet this time, and aimed another spell at the man, but this time he was again ready for her. He levitated another wardrobe and brought it down right in front of him as a shield. He made to Disapparate.</p><p>Caroline could have screamed if she had been the screaming type. How dare he, show up in her home and decide to leave at will, as if he owned the place?</p><p>With another jab of her wand and a verbal "<em>Diffindo</em>!" she blast apart her wardrobe, and was satisfied that pieces of wood rammed into her attacker's face and arms, drawing blood.</p><p>Yet the rain of broken wood didn't stop his turning. Even as Caroline tried to disarm him, he Disapparated away with a <em>pop</em>, and all she was left with was his final expression as he disappeared: a twisted, triumphant smile, full of malicious promise.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>Caroline spent the rest of the evening repairing her apartment and trying to get warm. Despite the summer heat, she was chilled to the bone, the man's last smile clenching at her gut.</p><p>The cut on her arm had bled profusely, and it had taken her hours to mend. It still throbbed.</p><p>Worse, she could not shake the restless disturbance her attacker had stirred. He hadn't known she liked to use her front door, but he'd known how to respond to her curses and duelling tricks. And, he'd called her Montagu in a way that belied a long acquaintance. That name was a disturbance itself, at once familiar and foreign, and it badgered like a fraying thread on the smooth weave of her mind.</p><p>She knew minds. She'd built her entire career around their Healing, after all, and she'd seen inside hundreds, if not thousands of minds in her work as a Healer. But as she delved into meditation to examine her own brain, Caroline was certain she'd never seen this strange ripple in the fabric before. It really was as if a thread had come loose—that name, his face—and she could not stop picking at it.</p><p>Finally, after a long night of poking and pulling, something seemed to… unravel, just a touch.</p><p>And she had a name to match the man's face: Silas Nott.</p><p>She grabbed the thread now, eager and curious to see what other mysteries awaited her beyond this strange cover over her mind.</p><p>She sent a note into work, pretending illness. Against her better judgement, she decided to see to the wrinkle in her mind before going to the Aurors, and returned to her slow work.</p><p>By the end of the first day, it was becoming clear that someone had cast a rather intricate memory spell on her mind.</p><p>By the end of the second, Caroline was no longer curious. She was crazed. It was as if a whole other life had been lived beneath her own. She had to get under it, figure out what it was, or surely she'd go mad.</p><p>Finally, by the end of the week, she managed it. She had unravelled bits and pieces, but that day, she finally found the master thread, and with one pull of her mind, the entire charm came loose at once, unravelling into the ether like a broken tapestry.</p><p>And then she could not move, for it was like floodgates had been opened in her head.</p><p>Waves and waves of people and memories and emotions—oh, the terror and guilt and love and <em>pain</em>—crashed into her, and finally, finally she knew. She lay there for days, it seemed, letting her real life return to her. Submerge her. Suffocate her. And when she saw it all, and felt it all, she wondered if she should have left that first thread alone.</p><p>A week later, she moved back to Britain. Caroline Müller ceased to exist.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Stagnation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>July 17, 1995</strong>
</p><p>Sirius could not understand why the universe seemed hell-bent on his misery.</p><p>Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had always been stale and grim and horrid, but as a child, never had every detail of the place nettled Sirius like it did now. Perhaps the years since his escape from home had taken the edge off his memories. Or perhaps it was all the decay that had settled in after his mother died.</p><p>Either way, he had been living here for barely three weeks, and already he was losing bits of his sanity that even Azkaban hadn't managed to take.</p><p>Luckily, daily Order meetings and constant activity meant he was not alone as much as he could have been. But even Remus, who had essentially moved in, could not always be around for company. And Sirius, of course, could not leave. Once Dumbledore had placed all his enchantments on the house, he had advised Sirius to always stay within their protections.</p><p>Rationally, of course, Sirius agreed. The Ministry still ordered Dementors to Kiss him on sight, and Sirius didn't fancy losing his soul. It was only that he felt so very cramped and bored and <em>useless</em>, and ridiculously, he was starting to miss those days he'd spent in that cave near Hogsmeade, catching rats to feed himself. The hunting and transforming had kept his body relatively exhausted. It had been something to do, and he'd managed to keep the nightmares largely at bay.</p><p>Grimmauld Place was another story completely. With nothing to stimulate his body or brain, the memories and nightmares came crashing down with full force. During the day, any glimpse of a nick in the furniture or a spot on the rugs might conjure a nasty scene from childhood, and his mother's voice wasn't doing him any favours. But even that was nothing compared to the nights, when his conscious mind could no longer block out the nightmares steeped in guilt and despair.</p><p>Nearly every night now he saw James and Lily's lifeless forms crumbled on their floor. Heard baby Harry's escalating cries. Sometimes, he'd see other Order members, gruesomely dead or perhaps turning their wands on him when he'd been least suspecting. Sometimes, Moony's perpetually scarred face stared up at him, mischievous eyes now blank with death.</p><p>Then, other times, he'd glimpse a mass of dark curls against pale marble skin, hear hoarse screams, see another lifeless and mangled form lying at his feet and know that he had failed another person he loved. He would jerk awake in the musty darkness, sweat cold on the back of his neck, his own strangled screams still ringing in his ears.</p><p>Sirius suspected curling up to sleep in his Animagus form would help keep his mind clear, but he rather stubbornly refused to test out his theory. As much as he loved Padfoot, he was human first, damn it. He could not accept that Azkaban had taken away for good his ability to function like a normal person.</p><p>Instead, he doused himself in calming potions and alcohol, hoping to dull the edge of the nightmares. When they inevitably came, he let them shock him awake before dawn. Often, too shaken to fall back asleep, he would flop and turn in the darkness, eyes wide, waiting for morning. Not like it mattered. What good was a full night of sleep to him these days? He had nothing to do during the day.</p><p>He could clean, he supposed. And in fact, he was cleaning, though progress was currently being measured in inches by the hour, and even Sirius was not so shameless as to declare that he was trying his hardest. The truth was, he had little motivation to change the current state of anything. Even if the house were new and pristine again, every table and chair and tapestry would only stir up awful memories.</p><p>And so, restless day bled into tortured night, each melting into the next, until Sirius felt as if he spent his days staring down a long black tunnel of miserable nothingness. There was, however, one spot of light at the end of the tunnel, and Sirius had clung to it like a drowning man ever since Dumbledore had given him the vague promise.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>"When do you reckon Dumbledore'll let Harry come stay," Sirius asked Remus, draining his cold tea and twirling his wand absently between his fingers.</p><p>They were in the Grimmauld Place kitchen, occupying the only clean chairs in a hastily cleared space before the cold hearth. The rest of the kitchens were covered in a revolting (and Slytherin green) mould that was simultaneously sticky and slimy. Performing the only scrubbing spell that seemed to work felt like pulling teeth. Naturally, Sirius had cleared a small space to sit and an even smaller space to cook, then pretended he had better things to clean.</p><p>"I don't know, Padfoot. Dumbledore hasn't given me any updates since I asked him yesterday," Remus said patiently. His cup was empty, and he peered hopefully into the teapot.</p><p>"But they should all be here for the meeting soon, and you can ask him yourself. Can you put more water on to boil?"</p><p>Sirius, being closer to the stove, complied, then went back to twirling his wand, rocking back and forth on the hind legs of his chair.</p><p>"Hmm," he mused, frowning at the ceiling. "And about Harry having that connection to Voldemort through his scar, what do you think? Was Dumbledore telling us everything?"</p><p>Remus raised an eyebrow and reached for an oat biscuit. Sirius made a subconscious grimace. He'd come to accept that Kreacher wasn't trying to poison everyone, but everything Kreacher touched seemed unappetising.</p><p>"I doubt Dumbledore has told anybody <em>everything</em>," said Remus. "But in regards to Harry's Voldemort connection, he seemed earnest enough. What would he have to hide from us?"</p><p>"Dumbledore assured us that Harry was perfectly safe," Sirius said, freezing his rocking and giving Remus a dark look.</p><p>"If Harry is perfectly safe, why'd he say we weren't to tell him more than he 'needs to know?' Like we have to be vague on purpose. Makes it sound like Voldy can see into his head or something."</p><p>Remus was silent for a moment.</p><p>"Sirius, I think that was what Dumbledore meant," he finally said, voice quiet.</p><p>"What?" Sirius jumped out of his chair, toppling it back, his hands braced on the rickety wood table. "And he still thinks Harry's safe? Is he off his rocker?"</p><p>"Well, maybe Voldemort doesn't know the connection's there. Or maybe, as long as Voldemort doesn't think Harry has important information, he won't bother trying to get into his head."</p><p>"How can you look so calm, Moony?" cried Sirius. "Any mind connection to a murderous madman is highly dangerous!"</p><p>Remus sighed.</p><p>"Of course it is, Padfoot, and I don't like it any more than you do, but it isn't as if there's a way for us to get rid of it. The only way is to make sure Voldemort has no incentives to get into Harry's mind. I'm sure Dumbledore knows what he's doing. Do sit down."</p><p>Sirius remained tense for another moment, then deflated. Remus was annoying this way, always so calm and right about everything. He fixed his chair and dropped back into it.</p><p>"I know, I know," he said, rubbing his temple. "I doubt even Dumbledore can fix things related to a killing curse scar." He gave a frustrated growl, but it sounded defeated. "I just…I need to keep him safe, Moony. It's the least—it's my…well, you know."</p><p>"I do, Padfoot. I do." He reached over to clap him on the shoulder, and for a second it was like Prongs was sitting in the gloomy kitchen with them.</p><p>"At least I don't have to worry about being useless in this case, if no one else can help Harry either."</p><p>"We've been over this. You're not useless, only bored." And the spell was broken.</p><p>Giving him a sideways look, Remus whispered something about "<em>dramatics, worse than before," </em>under his breath, then bit decisively into another biscuit. Sirius was about to defend his own honour, but then decided ignoring the comment would better drive home his point.</p><p>"Oi, those are meant for the meeting later," he said instead. "I'll have to order Kreacher to make more if we run out, and I can't stand to look at him any more today. How many have you had?"</p><p>"I'm assuming he made enough for everyone to have two," Remus shrugged, "and I've been eating both our portions." He gave Sirius an assessing look.</p><p>"Though I must say, now that I think about it, maybe I shouldn't let you pass up on things like Kreacher's biscuits. I'd have expected you to fill out more since you've stopped subsisting on rats, but you're still rather thin."</p><p>Sirius knew this only too well. His face had lost its gaunt look, but he could still clearly see a few ribs when he changed, and he certainly hadn't needed Remus to bring him bigger robes. Kreacher's cooking wasn't fantastic, but it wasn't inedible, and yet he couldn't ever seem to summon up an appetite.</p><p>It wasn't about Kreacher, really. He just couldn't seem to taste the difference between soup and salad, or cake and roast beef. Because he hadn't felt physically hungry since moving back into Grimmauld Place, meals usually consisted of spooning matter into his mouth until he grew bored. And everything he ate bored him immensely.</p><p>"Not really hungry," he said, wrinkling his nose. Then, not wanting to worry Remus, he added, "Maybe when the Weasleys move in I'll be inclined to eat more. I've heard Molly Weasley's a great cook."</p><p>To his satisfaction, Remus seemed to perk up at the thought, but at the same time they both glanced around the rotting excuse for a kitchen, covered in green slime like a rock at low tide.</p><p>"Maybe we should, uh…"</p><p>Sirius heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Yeah, but the kettle's boiled. Let's just have one more cup of tea first. For courage."</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>It was two hours before Sirius heard a faint pop of Apparition coming through the high windows that opened just below the front door. He and Remus both took a breath, bracing themselves for when the Order member inevitably rang the doorbell and woke up that accursed portrait, but to their surprise, they heard only the soft click of the front door.</p><p>"Must be Dumbledore or Moody," said Remus. The faint footsteps sounded like more than one person.</p><p>"You'd better go up before they think something nasty's happened to us," said Sirius, handing him the tray of oat biscuits. "I'll be right up with the tea when the kettle's boiled." The Order had been meeting in the Black family's formal dining room, which, perhaps to preserve the china, had been the one with the fewest dangerous magical remnants. The herd of pixies that had taken up residence in the fussy chandelier could make a nuisance of themselves, but they were of the Shropshire variety, and generally harmless.</p><p>As Remus climbed the stairs, Sirius surveyed the progress they'd made. Two more chairs were fit for human occupation, and they'd cleared an extra four square-feet of space around the stove. It had taken them over a hundred recantations of the specified scourging spell, and Sirius was certain this would be how he died. Muttering a fungus-blasting charm as his brain slowly turned to porridge.</p><p>"<em>Clang!" </em></p><p>The sudden crash and clatter of what had to be Remus' biscuit tray sounded above his head, and Sirius stopped dead, his primal instincts alert for danger. Now he heard voices, but they weren't loud enough for make anything out. Didn't sound like an altercation, but surely Remus was not so clumsy that he'd dropped the tray for no reason.</p><p>Still panicked, heart racing, Sirius grabbed his wand and raced up the stairs two at a time, not wanting to Apparate into the middle of something unexpected.</p><p>He heard Remus through the floorboards, though his voice seemed…off. Shocked, a bit blithering, and frightened?</p><p>Then Dumbledore was speaking, his voice low and placating.</p><p>"…assured she truly is…only she and I knew about…yes, Remus, it would seem…"</p><p>Sirius opened the door, head turning to locate where Remus' voice was coming from. It had been Dumbledore coming in, and they were in the dining room after all. It seemed he'd had no cause for concern. Of course. Blasted nerves. Remus must have tripped or something. All that scrubbing from before. Sirius' instincts had been on high alert for the past two years, and now any sort of sudden sound made him jumpy.</p><p>Briskly, trying to regain some of his dignity, he strode down the hall to the open dining room door. Suddenly, another voice slipped into the conversation.</p><p>A woman's voice, chocolatey smooth. An unmistakeable voice. <em>Her </em>voice. Sirius froze<em>. </em></p><p>Klara Hesse Montagu stood in the middle of his decaying dining room. Tall, elegant, dark curls falling about her waist. For some moments, Sirius was certain this was some new twisted dream his mind had seen fit to taunt him with.</p><p>Klara, who was supposed to be safe in Austria. Klara, who was supposed not to be Klara at all. <em>His Klara.</em> In this house? In London? But that must mean the memory charm...</p><p>She was smiling that same quiet smile, her lips forming words his mind refused to process. For so long, he had hoped to dream of her, but Azkaban had dulled every memory of her he'd held. Not so now. Every curve of her cheek and lift of her lip was crisp and vivid and <em>real. </em></p><p>She reached out her slender hands and squeezed Remus' in that warm way only she could muster, and his brain struggled to make sense.</p><p>As he stood gawking, his mind stuck, his heart pounding, Klara seemed to sense his gaze. She looked up. She, too, froze. Her eyes near crashed into his, and he felt the breath whoosh from his chest, as if her single look had been a physical blow. He dug his fingers into the doorframe. The air hung heavy and still around them, muting sound, stealing breath. Then, she spoke.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Resurrection</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Hello, Sirius."</p><p>That voice. Like something out of a dream, yet so earthy and real he could almost reach out and touch it.</p><p>Sirius could not respond. His tongue felt numb and detached from his control, and his throat was painfully dry.</p><p>The smile had faded from her face now, and in its place was that cool marble mask she slipped on with such ease. Usually, as Sirius had learned, the calmer the surface, the wilder her emotions stormed beneath. At least, that had been the case when he'd known her before. Sirius had never seen her face so devoid of expression.</p><p>"Kl…Klara…you're…how…?" It was several heavy seconds before he found his tongue. His scratchy voice was still full of disbelief, though his rational mind had now accepted that yes, it really was her, standing before him, fifteen years since he'd last lain eyes on her. Since he'd wiped her memory, replaced her identity, and made sure she left Britain entirely.</p><p>Right.</p><p>Now dread was rapidly overcoming the relief and elation that had accompanied his first glimpse of her. He was surprised, really, that she hadn't pulled out her wand and attacked him right there—he would not fault her in the least—but then again, that was not her way.</p><p>Questions swarmed in his head, but before he could snatch one out of the tangled mass, he heard a sucking sound to his left. The tense air between them seemed to evaporate.</p><p>He and Klara both turned their heads. Remus had gathered all the oat biscuits he'd dropped back onto their tray, and he and Dumbledore seemed focused on siphoning off the dust and carpet fluff they had gathered.</p><p>Sirius cleared his throat.</p><p>Both looked up. He felt them studying his face, then Remus turned and said,</p><p>"Well, you have no idea how glad I am that you're not dead, Klara."</p><p>Klara smiled back at him, her features thawing for a moment.</p><p>"Yes," said Dumbledore, also beaming. "I am certain, Miss Montagu, that all the Order members who once knew you will be elated you have returned to us, though I expect they will react quite as Remus did. Many of us assumed the worst, as you can imagine."</p><p>"Thank you, Professor. And—" Her eyes flicked back to Sirius for an unreadable moment, though Sirius could have guessed at the accusation. "I am sorry. For all the worry."</p><p>Dumbledore looked about to respond, but just then, the doorbell rang with a muffled <em>"ding!" </em>Instinctively, Sirius tensed, and sure enough, before the bell had died, his mother's shrieks broke through the still house.</p><p>"WHO DARES DISTURB THE HOUSE OF MY NOBLE ANCESTORS—"</p><p>The hallway outside the dining room exploded with voices. Sirius heard Moody's growl as he tried to wrangle the curtain back over the portrait, and other simultaneous conversations drifted in through the open doors.</p><p>"It appears we are not the only early ones, Miss Montagu," said Dumbledore, and he started towards the hall as Remus moved to put the cookie tray at the centre of the table. Klara made to follow Dumbledore, appearing, as always, wholly composed despite the sudden uproar. Sirius managed to regain his senses.</p><p>"Klara, wait." Three heads turned to look at him. Sirius stared at a gash in the floorboards.</p><p>"I need—" he cleared his throat. "I'd like a moment, Dumbledore. With Klara. Can you start without us?"</p><p>"There's no need." It was Klara who responded, and she was pointedly not looking at Sirius either. "I am back for good, Sirius. If you need to say something, we will have plenty of—"</p><p>"No, Klara. Now. I need a moment." With great effort, feeling as if his eyes weighed a ton, he forced his gaze up to her face. Reluctantly, she met it.</p><p>"Please."</p><p>Her lips thinned. She had always hated being coerced into changing her mind, and she certainly made it clear she didn't want to be alone with him. Sirius knew it was with great difficulty that she didn't refuse again, but she disliked any display of emotion more than she stuck to her stubbornness. Perhaps fearing her own reaction, she seemed to prefer hearing anything he had to say in private. Sirius couldn't help his satisfaction that her acquiescence meant she was not wholly unaffected by seeing him again.</p><p>"Well," said Dumbledore, "Please do take your time Sirius, Miss Montagu. As I said, we are all early. We will enjoy those lovely oat biscuits in the meantime."</p><p>Sirius gestured to the opposite door. Stiffly, Klara preceded him across the hallway and into the darkened library he indicated. Sirius shut the door behind him. Before he could warn her, she had pointed her wand at the curtains. A cloud of dust engulfed half the room, threatening to swallow them both.</p><p>"Good Lord!" Klara waved her wand again, covering a sneeze in the sleeve of her cardigan. A second later, the dust dispersed, leaving only afternoon light casting beams on the moulding carpets.</p><p>"Sorry," breathed Sirius, waving a hand in front of his itching nose. "We haven't cleaned this room yet."</p><p>"I should hope not, the state it's in," she replied, surveying the dilapidated library and pointedly avoiding looking at him.</p><p>Sirius found himself chuckling, but she gave no indication she'd heard him. Finally, she turned to him.</p><p>"Well?"</p><p>"Well?"</p><p>"Sirius, you made rather a scene about speaking to me alone. What was so very urgent?"</p><p>Her face was still and devoid of expression, and the light bouncing off her cheek made her glow like a marble statue. Though Sirius was sure she'd never looked at him with this stony stillness in the past, seeing her familiar features now, he could almost imagine that no time had passed.</p><p>Sirius opened his mouth, then shut it again. He hadn't really needed to say anything specific to her.</p><p>Well, actually, that was not true. He had a great many things he wished to say, as well as do, the least of which might have been to clutch her to him and beg her forgiveness so he would never have to be without her again.</p><p>But even at his most baffled, Sirius was not fool enough to do anything of the sort. This was Klara, it had been fifteen years, and if he opened the floodgates to his fears and hopes and love, he didn't think he would be able to stop his emotional outburst. And in her anger, he doubted she'd have the patience for any of it. In fact, even when she wasn't angry, he doubted she'd have the patience for it—not if all that feeling was directed at her. He had seen this withdrawal in her, and he'd never tried to burden her with his innermost emotions. It would only have scared her.</p><p>In the dining room, he had simply needed more time to stare at her, to drink her in undisturbed. Now he scrambled to find a suitable question.</p><p>"I only wanted to know how you broke my charm," he said, barely above a whisper and making sure to avoid her eyes. "It was rather strong and well-polished." He tried for a teasing smile, but at the tightening in her jaw, could only manage a grimace.</p><p>Her lips thinned again.</p><p>"Yes, it was," she said. Her voice, too, was stony smooth and devoid of emotion. "I'd have never noticed a charm was in place if Silas Nott hadn't come to my home trying to kill me."</p><p>It as if someone had pulled the floor from beneath his feet.</p><p>"Silas Nott <em>what?</em>"</p><p>"He was waiting in my apartment one—"</p><p>"How the hell did Nott know where you were? How did he find you?" Sirius had his hands in his hair now, pacing and looking at her in horror. Nott had <em>found </em>her? How was that even possible? He'd put a whole slew of disillusionment and disassociation charms on her new name. No one should have been able to locate her unless they knew to look for a Caroline Müller in Vienna.</p><p>"How did he even know to look?! How did he know your other name?!" He was yelling now, but Sirius didn't care. Delayed fear and dread were clawing up his chest, and he could feel cold sweat prickle his back. He could have lost her—she could have been tortured or killed—and he wouldn't have known a thing.</p><p>"Oh, Merlin, Klara," he said, face in his trembling hands. "You know that I was trying to prevent just this from happening, don't you? Fuck, how could I have—"</p><p>"No, Sirius, I don't." He stopped. She so rarely interrupted anybody, but her low voice could always cut through the most vehement shouting. "I don't <em>know</em> what you were trying to do at all. How could I? You decided I didn't need to know a thing."</p><p>The irony that laced her voice was sharp and flinty.</p><p>Damn.</p><p>Amid the swirling mess of panic, fear and bafflement, it was guilt that won out. It cut through his chest, cold and damp and heavy. He almost whimpered at the sudden pang.</p><p>Sirius reached for her hand, unable to help himself. He wanted so desperately to anchor himself to her, to make her understand, even just a little, so she did not turn to stone right in front of him.</p><p>"Klara, I'm so—"</p><p>She slapped him.</p><p>His hand froze.</p><p>Sirius barely felt the sting. After a moment, he blinked down at her.</p><p>"I suppose I deserved that."</p><p>Her lips were a tight line, her eyes like cut glass. She averted her gaze.</p><p>"Don't do that," she whispered, eyeing the hand that had reached for hers. "And yes. You did deserve it."</p><p>Yet Sirius thought she looked more surprised than he felt at the blow.</p><p>When she looked back up at him, the brittleness in her features had softened. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but he thought that her eyes seemed shinier than normal.</p><p>"Klara…"</p><p>"I don't wish to answer any more questions, Sirius. I've spent the entire morning doing that with Dumbledore. If you want answers, I suggest we return to the meeting."</p><p>She turned away, not waiting for his response. At the door, her fingers on the handle, she looked back over her shoulder.</p><p>"I know you're relieved I'm safe. Just as I'm relieved you're not out there running for your life. Or still in Azkaban. You could never deserve either."</p><p>Then she pushed open the door and glided out into the darkened hall.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>Sirius had stayed glued to the carpet for some bewildered moments before he could fully comprehend what Klara had said. When her memory had returned, did she truly never believe…?</p><p>Not allowing himself to fully dwell on the hopeful possibility, he followed her back to the dining room, where Dumbledore was standing at the head of the table.</p><p>"Ah, and here she is now. Just in time, Miss Montagu."</p><p>He motioned for Klara to join him, his words drawing to the doorway the attention of all those seated around the table. There was a stunned pause, and then the room erupted in gasps and exclamations.</p><p>Sirius barely had time to think before he threw himself between Klara and a Mad-Eye Moody who had launched himself towards her, wand raised. He needn't have bothered, of course. She had already slipped to the other side of the table, completely unflustered. Naturally, she'd been expecting this sort of reaction, and if Sirius hadn't been so sure from first glance that this truly was Klara, he was certain he'd have reacted the same way.</p><p>"Please, everyone, take a seat and allow me to continue." Dumbledore's voice rose over the din, and after a flurry of robes and shocked mutterings, everyone returned to their seats. Moody still held his wand, however, and glowered at Klara, both eyes trained on her.</p><p>"She's either an imposter or she's betrayed us," Moody growled. "No one innocent is assumed dead for fifteen years and just shows up one day as if nothing happened."</p><p>Sirius' eyes widened, indignation swelling. He hadn't realised Moody had thought Klara a traitor, and in a flash, he was out of his seat again, his chair toppling behind him.</p><p>"Now wait a second, Mad-Eye, you can't just accuse—"</p><p>"Sirius, please. Sit down," Dumbledore cut in. Sirius felt a tug at his arm. He glowered at Moody, but after a moment fell reluctantly back into the chair Remus had righted for him</p><p>"Alastor, I assure you. Miss Montagu is neither imposter nor traitor. I will, I promise, explain the circumstances of her return in detail if you will allow me. Please."</p><p>Moody only nodded, though his expression did not soften. Klara looked unfazed. Smiling her quiet smile, she reached into her pocket and produced her wand, which she rolled across the table towards him.</p><p>"You can return it when you feel it safe to do so, Alastor."</p><p>Moody narrowed his eyes, but made no move to confiscate it. Sirius felt the corner of his mouth twitch, and beside him he heard Remus breathe a soft laugh.</p><p>"Wonderful," said Dumbledore. "Now then, as many of you know, this is Miss Klara Montagu, a member of the first Order of the Phoenix. Fifteen years ago, Death Eaters attacked her while she was with her muggle family. They burned their entire house to the ground. There were no bodies found, and officially it was put forth that there had been no survivors."</p><p>At this, Sirius heard several sharp intakes of breath from the new members, as well as choked sounds of recollection from those who were suddenly reminded of the precise circumstances surrounding Klara's "death."</p><p>From the depths of his own mind rose unbidden images, stained in horror, of the night he'd heard the news. Of the weeks he'd spent looking for her, dreaming of her dead form at his feet, refusing to beleive her gone Sirius dug his nails into his palms and tried to focus on the cadences of Dumbledore's voice. She was alive. She was safe. She was right here across the table from him. <em>Get a hold of yourself. </em>He tightened his fists, and the memories did not fly out of control in his brain.</p><p>"Of course, Miss Montagu did not perish with her family," Dumbledore continued. "When she was rescued, it was determined that it would be infinitely safer for her and more beneficial to our cause if she were to go into hiding, away from the potential reach of Voldemort."</p><p>Here he gave Sirius a piercing blue look, and Sirius realised that Dumbledore had decided it best not to broadcast the specific details of Klara's disappearance and rescue, or the fact that he, Sirius, had acted on his own and altered her memory. Just as well. He could imagine the way some Order members—Molly Weasley in particular—might look at him for weeks if they found out.</p><p>Dumbledore continued.</p><p>"Her muggleborn status and specific set of skills made her a particular target, even after the fall of Voldemort, and she has therefore been living under an alias in Austria for the past fifteen years. However, given the recent escalation of events, Miss Montagu has agreed to return to the Order once more."</p><p>"I did wonder…hope…rather foolishly I'd thought, but…"</p><p>Two seats down, Filius Flitwick, (who, until today, Sirius had not even realised was in the Order), was staring at Klara with a mix of delight and relief. Tears glistened in his eyes. He accepted a handkerchief from McGonagall, who was also dabbing her eyes, and Sirius was reminded what a teacher's favourite Klara had been at school. Even though she'd hung on the edge of failing Transfiguration every year, she'd somehow managed to remain in McGonagall's good graces and her NEWT class.</p><p>He'd teased her about it incessantly, always trying to get a rise out of her, but now Sirius couldn't remember a single Charms exam in which Klara hadn't come top of their class. Add to that her natural talent for duelling and her Ravenclaw tendencies, and she must have been Flitwick's dream student come true.</p><p>"Blimey, so you've been living as someone else for fifteen years?" Tonks piped in, eyes huge. "I would have slipped up in a day or two."</p><p>Sirius looked to Klara, and though her smile had faded as Dumbledore detailed her family's death, she managed to soften her face again as she turned to Tonks.</p><p>"It helped that no one knew my real identity, of course," she replied. "Were you in my circumstances, I'm certain you would have maintained the cover just as well."</p><p>Tonks still looked impressed, muttering something under her breath that garnered another whispered chuckle from Remus.</p><p>"You haven't said, Dumbledore, how you can be sure she is who she says she is." It was Moody again. "It has been fifteen years."</p><p>He was still glaring, though less malice showed on his scarred face, and Sirius saw that his wand was back in its holster.</p><p>"Ah, yes, of course. Just this morning, Miss Montagu obligingly opened her mind to Legilimency and shared with me some of our shared memories from her childhood. I then invited her to attempt Legilimency on me, and she determined the nature of my most recent knitting project in a matter of seconds, despite my very best efforts at Occulmency."</p><p>There were gasps from those who hadn't known Klara before, and Sirius felt a ridiculous surge of pride. It was said Voldemort himself couldn't penetrate Dumbledore's mind, but from the first time Dumbledore invited her to try, Klara had been able to slip past the headmaster's mental defences.</p><p>Dumbledore looked around the table at those who had been in the original Order, his eyes finally settling on Moody, whose face had lost its scowl altogether.</p><p>"I trust that I have convinced you? Unless, in the past fifteen years, there has appeared in the world another witch or wizard capable of breaking through my Occulmency shields, I'd say we have solid proof of Miss Montagu's identity."</p><p>With an acknowledging nod, Moody rolled her wand back to her, and Klara gave him another quiet smile.</p><p>The meeting moved on then, Dumbledore explaining about the Weasleys' moving in the following week, about guard duty shifts and precautions at both the Ministry and the Dursley's, and finally ending with reports on known Death Eaters still at large.</p><p>Sirius tuned in and out, his eyes fixed unabashedly on Klara, who, after meeting his eyes the first time, turned away and never looked his direction again. She had so shocked him before, standing in his decaying dining room like some flower growing out of a swamp, that he hadn't seen the inevitable changes time had left on her person.</p><p>Now he studied her face, noticing the little lines at the corner of her eyes and mouth that told him she had smiled often in the intervening years. Her eyes were deeper set, her eyelids even more heavily lidded than before, and her cheeks were thinner, making her single dimple appear even when she didn't fully smile.</p><p>Her mass of curly hair seemed darker now, and tamer, though golden streaks still caught the light when she moved. She had tucked her wand behind her ear liked she always did, but now she had it in her hand, absently twirling it between her fingers in that achingly familiar way as she listened to each member speak.</p><p>Gods, how Sirius had missed her. Those years in Azkaban had faded all the memories he'd held of her, but seeing her in the flesh, here again, mere feet away, had the effect of lifting the Dementors' fog.</p><p>Memories from their youth flashed through his mind, vivid and bright, made more beautiful by the view of her now, sitting before him, thirty-five and lovelier than he'd ever seen her. Sirius realised he hadn't felt this sort of elation since he'd thought, a year ago, that Harry was going to come live with him. And before that—well, it had been a long, long time indeed.</p><p>"Elphias?" said Dumbledore when the current updates had all been addressed. "I understand you must have nothing to add about your subject. Nonetheless, would you mind repeating some of your most important reports from the past three weeks? I think we could all use a reminder of the situation and movements of Silas Nott."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N about Legilimency as used in this story: Before you come up with a hundred questions about the plot holes surrounding Legilimency use in my story, I'd like to say that mind magic is going to be a pretty important part of my plot, and so I almost guarantee that your questions will be answered later on.</p><p>If you don't want to wait, however, here is my basic structure theory for how Legilimency works in the HP world in general. Yes, I made most of it up and some of the theories diverge from canon, but that is the point of this entire endeavour, isn't it?</p><p>There are two types of thoughts—current thoughts and memories. Current/top layer thoughts are essentially one's stream of consciousness.</p><p>There are two types of Legilimens—natural and learned. Of course, everyone who learns have to have some type of natural ability, but some people are just born like Queenie Goldstein. Natural Legilimens can read the top/current thoughts of minds in passing, without evening meaning to, but learned Legilimens must deliberately perform Legilimency in order to access anyone's thoughts.</p><p>There are two types of Legilimency—detectable and undetectable. Within these two categories, there are distinctions and subtleties.</p><p>With detectable Legilimency, the Legilimens will either use a wand and say the spell, in which case, duh, or they will simply enter the victim's brain. If the Legilimens is only reading the top thoughts, the victim will feel unease and anxiety, sense another presence in their minds, and sort of "know" that someone is invading their usually private thoughts. The Legilimens can also make their presence known by drawing up memories in a way that makes it clear to the victim they are having their brain messed with.</p><p>With undetectable Legilimency, the Legilimens will subtly enter the victim's mind and look at just the surface thoughts. Very practiced Legilimens would be able to coax thoughts to appear in the mind as if naturally, seeing deeper thoughts without alerting the victim to their presence.</p><p>Note that a practiced Occlumens will be much more sensitive to a Legilimens' subtle presence in their brain when their Occlumency shields are not up, and it is impossible to penetrate through erected Occlumency shields without being detected.</p><p>Though Legilimency is most commonly (and most easily) performed through eye contact, very practiced Legilimens (and those with born Legilimency ability) are able to access a mind without eye contact. A slightly less skilled Legilimens might need only a brief moment of eye contact to get into an unprotected mind. Once they're in, the victim can look away and the Legilimens will still be able to stay in their mind so long as they keep their eyes trained on the victim's head.</p><p>If one is not a natural Legilimens, it is nearly impossible to access a person's mind both undetected and without making eye contact, (Voldemort and Harry's connection notwithstanding.) When this is fleetingly possible for a very skilled Legilimens, they can usually only see the top layer/current thought of the victim, in the way of a natural Legilimens.</p><p>When inside a brain, a Legilimens usually looks for emotional threads to follow, as these usually lead to strings of related memories that may be relevant to the Legilimens' purposes. As Queenie tells Newt, people are easiest to read when they're hurting, meaning the closer to the surface one's emotions, the easier it is for a Legilimens to access the memories associated with this emotions.</p><p>Both natural and learned Legilimens have to specifically train to get around Occlumency shields. This requires a (sometimes natural) mental focus and flexibility that is different from natural Legilimency ability. When Snape is going on about "discipline" to Harry in OotP—yeah, that's sort of this.</p><p>If this little blurb was at all entertaining to you please lmk and I'd be happy to share my theoretical structure for Occlumency as well.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Necessities</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: This chapter, like the title, was a bit of a plot necessity. Therefore, I apologize if it feels a bit...filler. I promise things will start moving along soon, but this chapter mainly includes people sitting and having conversations. So. Sorry about that if that's not your thing. I do hope the conversations are interesthing though!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Klara's wand froze in her hand. As Sirius watched, she slowly tucked it back behind her ear and leaned forward to better hear Doge's wheezy voice, her eyes pinned to his face. Even though Sirius knew Doge wasn't about to convey new information, he still felt himself tense. For more than a decade, every mention of Silas Nott had made him alert and uneasy.</p><p>"What? Oh, yes, yes of course. Naturally. Well, let's see then." Conjuring a stack of hand-written notes, Doge peered at them through his spectacles.</p><p>"Silas Nott, born 1958, only son and sole heir to the Pureblood Nott family. Slytherin House, naturally, graduated Hogwarts 1977, and we suspect he joined the Death Eaters immediately upon finishing school.</p><p>Now then…he wasn't a particularly active combatant during the war, mostly providing poisons and other potions, but during his 1981 trial he was accused of participating in the murder of the elder Bones couple and…a Harold Thomas. Pled Not Guilty on account of memory loss associated with having been Imperiused…uh, Wizengamot ruled 32-18 to dismiss all charges…"</p><p>Here Doge, seeming to sense Klara's eyes on him, looked up, scanning around the table. He caught Klara's gaze, and whatever he saw there must have startled him. Sirius saw him give a little shiver and retreat back down to his papers.</p><p>"<em>Ahem. </em>Right then. Uh…he married a Cecilia Bulstrode in 1980… who gave birth that same year to a son named…let's see…Theodore, yes, and she died shortly in 1981. Since his acquittal, Nott has led a rather quiet existence within Pureblood circles. It seems he even legalised most of his business dealings…never remarried…and that's about it, really."</p><p>Doge looked up again, this time taking care to avoid Klara's end of the table.</p><p>"Well, to be perfectly honest, if Harry Potter hadn't seen Nott in the Graveyard when You-Know-Who was resurrected, I doubt we'd have any proof that he's rejoined his former master. He and his son seem to come and go from their manor as usual. Now, he does seem to disappear for a couple of days at a time. His Floo shows no activity during these periods, but due to the protections around the manor we can't tell if he is leaving his residence through other means."</p><p>"He certainly left at the beginning of the month." Klara's voice was even and smooth, but Sirius could hear the slight tremble in her breath. The entire table turned to her. She was still addressing Doge, her eyes fixed on the stack of papers in his hands as if she wanted to toss it all into a fire.</p><p>"I'm—I beg your pardon, my dear?"</p><p>"He was waiting in my Vienna apartment on the first of July."</p><p>Collective gasps, but she continued, ignoring them and speaking to the stack of papers. "I don't believe he wanted to kill me then. He used only stunning and laceration spells, not the Killing Curse. I don't think he expected me to give him such a hard time, and Disapparated before I could get any information out of him."</p><p>Meaning that she hadn't gotten a chance to get into his head. Not that Sirius imagined she would have gotten much new insight. It was clear to him—and he imagined Klara knew only too well—precisely why Nott had been in her apartment shooting stunning spells. Nott would want to kill her, eventually, but he'd want to take his time. And he'd want to use his hands.</p><p>"Why was he there? And how did he find you?" As usual, it was Tonks, eyes huge, who first asked the questions. After a long moment, Klara tore her gaze away from Doge's papers and turned to look at Tonks. She had lost that pinning gaze she'd levelled at Doge, and now her eyes were still and flat.</p><p>"I have no idea how he found me. As to why…" She took in a quick sharp breath. "He and Evan Rosier killed my entire family to get to me. Silas Nott was always one to finish what he starts."</p><p>At the name Evan Rosier, both Mad-Eye and Remus jerked their heads to look at Sirius, but he pretended not to notice. He'd have to deal with questions later, he was certain, and he didn't know if he dreaded Remus' interrogation or Moody's more.</p><p>Everyone went quiet. After Klara's supposed death, both the Order and the Ministry had been at a loss for who was responsible. If it hadn't been for the Dark Mark cast above the charred remains of the Montagu hunting lodge, one could almost have believed it to be a tragic accident. To most, for years, the death of Klara and her family had been one of the mysteries of the war—like where Caradoc Dearborn had gone, or, (thought Sirius with bitter humour), how he, Sirius, could have betrayed his best friend.</p><p>And now, here was Klara, back from the dead, pointing her finger at a man who had avoided Azkaban altogether. He wasn't just accused of three murders now. Klara was confirming he'd committed five, and she hadn't even relayed what they'd done to her. The silence rose and swelled in the room, booming against Sirius' ears.</p><p>Finally, Dumbledore spoke.</p><p>"Of course, the question remains, how did Mr. Nott find Miss Montagu? The answer, I'm afraid, continues to elude us all, but I can assure you that it was not information leaked by our side." Dumbledore flicked another look at Sirius, as if for confirmation, so Sirius gave an imperceptible nod.</p><p>"Unfortunately," continued Dumbledore, "for lack of evidence and witnesses, Silas Nott remains a man at large, free to go where he pleases, including anywhere Miss Montagu appears in public. For this reason, I ask you all to be most careful about detailing Miss Montagu's whereabouts in casual conversation. While she will make no real secret of her return to Britain, it is still best to keep her out of general gossip."</p><p>Murmured assent flittered around the table now, the dense air of death dissipating like mist.</p><p>In the ensuing end-of-meeting chatter, Sirius watched as Klara met first with Flitwick and McGonagall, then the Weasleys, then with Mad-Eye, who brought over Tonks for an official introduction.</p><p>Remus came to join him at the wall. Sirius tensed. Sure enough, after a long pause, Remus spoke.</p><p>"You knew she wasn't dead all this time." It wasn't a question.</p><p>"Yeah. Yeah I did."</p><p>Silence. The uncomfortable truth of their mutual distrust all those years ago passed again between them, and Sirius felt the guilt begin to rise in his throat.</p><p>"Who else knew? Dumbledore, or course, and—"</p><p>"No, Dumbledore didn't know."</p><p>Remus snapped his head around so quickly Sirius could hear his neck crack.</p><p>In another time, Sirius might have made a variety of jokes. Now he stayed silent, the inappropriate urge to laugh quashed by the sudden realisation that he'd have to tell Remus all, sooner or later, and Remus would not be as understanding as James had been. Another person to disapprove most ardently, then. He could still feel Dumbledore's blue gaze piercing him.</p><p>"Only I knew," Sirius said slowly, refusing to turn his own head. "Well, James knew too, but after—you know. Only I knew."</p><p>Remus frowned. "Why didn't you tell Dumbledore?"</p><p>"He would have disapproved. Might have stopped me."</p><p>"Why would he have done that?"</p><p>Sirius clapped an uneasy hand on Remus' shoulder.</p><p>"I'll tell you when everyone's gone, mate." A pause. "Incidentally, I have been meaning to tell you for a while. That Klara's alive and all, I mean. I was just being a bit of a coward about it."</p><p>And before Remus could question him further, Sirius pushed off the wall and into the crowd.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>For the fifth time that evening, Klara embraced round little Hestia Jones, who seemed unable to keep the tears from spilling down her face. She was gripping Klara's hands now, going on about how her Kneazles, Apollo and Artemis, would surely still recognise Klara if she brought them to the next meeting. Her chest swelled with affection for the witch.</p><p>At twenty, Klara had imagined Hestia was the kind of woman normal people had for mothers. Her lack of children in reality had no bearing on Klara's maternal projections. Now at thirty-five, feeling like a disloyal child, she held a twinge of relief that Hestia, at least, had not died like her parents.</p><p>"Oh, I know Dumbledore wants you to stay safe, but my house is very secure," she was saying now. "You'll come for tea soon, yes?"</p><p>"Of course," said Klara, and it was like fifteen years had not passed since she'd sat in Hestia's sunny kitchen, drinking tea from flower-dotted cups. "And I've amassed a library of new pastry recipes. You'll love them, I promise."</p><p>Klara wasn't sure how long had passed—how many people, new and old, she had spoken to to—but when she looked around now, she and Dumbledore were the only guests still left in the repugnant dining room. Dumbledore had asked her to stay behind, and the reason Klara guessed at was causing a little ball of dread to form in her stomach. Sirius, turning around to see the two of them still standing there, gave them both an odd smile, as if he had expected her to stay to speak to him. He always had been arrogant, the sod. Klara wanted to hit him again. She also wanted to run at him and burrow into his chest, feel the way his muscled arms tightened around her shoulders.</p><p>She had braced herself before arriving at Grimmauld Place. Yes, after their bafflingly awkward interview that afternoon, Dumbledore had sprung the Order meeting on her, but she'd had the walk to Hogsmead to compose herself. She had thought herself ready to face Sirius. She had been wrong.</p><p>Just seeing his face again had felt like a physical blow to the gut. She would know. She knew exactly what such a blow felt like. The maelstrom of anger and relief and elation and pain that first glimpse of him had stirred in her had been near impossible to tame. Even now, it was drilling away at the pit of her stomach, though the anger had abated to a dull ache.</p><p>She reminded herself that she mustn't let him upset her composure again the way he had done in the library. The excessive emotion and loss of control that once existed between them had been good for neither; they made her weak, and made him…well, insane was a good word to start with if she was coming up with nasty names to call him.</p><p>No matter. There would be no more of that. She had things to accomplish now that she was back, and she wouldn't let him distract her.</p><p>Klara returned to her seat, and around her the three men sat, Remus and Sirius looking at Dumbledore expectantly. Inwardly Klara groaned. She couldn't see a logical way to argue herself out of this. Dumbledore had spent their entire walk out of Hogwarts regaling her with every protection charm he'd put on this house, and then, making Doge rehash things she'd already known about Nott…a fool could see what he was going to suggest she do, and she had no reason to refuse. Seeing the few biscuits still left in the tray Remus had brought up, she eagerly reached for one and popped the whole thing into her mouth.</p><p>"Sirius, Remus, as I have made clear, Miss Montagu's situation is potentially dangerous. With Silas Nott still at large, we must take precautions. Sirius, I would be greatly obliged if you would allow Miss Montagu to move into Grimmauld Place. For the time being, of course. Until Nott is properly dealt with."</p><p>In the surprised silence that followed, Klara all but stuffed another oat biscuit into her mouth. They weren't the worst biscuits she'd ever eaten, and the fat and sugar dulled her rising panic.</p><p>Before she'd moved into her parents' old flat last weekend, she had put up every protective charm she knew, but those naturally could not compare to the combination of Fidelius Charm, Dumbledore's shields, and generations of magical protection, most of which she was sure the Ministry hadn't approved. It was just her luck, really, that living in this veritable fortress would mean moving in with Sirius. Klara couldn't help but feel on the butt end of some ironic joke the Universe was playing to amuse itself. When they had been together before, no matter how many nights she'd spent in Sirius' bed, Klara had not even entertained the possibility of moving in with him.</p><p>And now, this.</p><p>Three sets of eyes turned to her. She let a little furrow show between her brows. Why were they looking at <em>her</em>?</p><p>"Surely it's up to Sirius whether I move in or not," Klara said finally, and she almost wished Sirius would come up with an excuse to refuse. But then again, if he did say no, he would not be the Sirius Black she knew.</p><p>He had the audacity to looked shocked.</p><p>"You'd want to move in, Klara?"</p><p>For a horribly uncomfortable moment, both Dumbledore and Remus seemed focused on specs of dust on their hands.</p><p>Klara pursed her lips. Yes, she definitely wanted to hit him again.</p><p>"It isn't a matter of what I want, Sirius."</p><p>She reached for another biscuit, only to discover there were no more on the tray.</p><p>Beside her, Remus softly cleared his throat.</p><p>"Well Sirius, it is your house, but I think it's pretty obvious that Grimmauld Place is the best place for Klara to live so long as Nott is still out there looking for her. What do you say?"</p><p>Sirius turned to give Remus a baffled look.</p><p>"Right. Well, of course I'd lo—uh—you're welcome to stay." He opened his arms in a mock grandiose gesture. Then he glanced around the derelict dining room, and his look turned sardonic.</p><p>"More than welcome, actually, though I can't promise this house won't kill you faster than Nott. I'd think over the move carefully if I were you."</p><p>Klara felt Remus stiffen next to her, and even Dumbledore looked concerned, but not for nothing had Sirius Black been the only man who'd ever held any power over her heart. His inappropriate humour had always satisfied a delicious spot deep in her psyche, and now Klara felt a hysterical laugh bubble up from her chest.</p><p>Quickly, she looked away, hiding the smile she couldn't keep off her face even as she reminded herself that she was still massively angry with him.</p><p>A moment later, Dumbledore stood with a soft cough of his own. Automatically, they followed him out of their seats.</p><p>"Well then, I believe that is settled. Miss Montagu, I trust you have yet to unpack in your current home?"</p><p>Of course Dumbledore had planned all this out as soon as he'd gotten past the surprise of Klara resurrecting herself in his office.</p><p>"Yes, Professor," she said, trying for a smile and failing.</p><p>"Wonderful. I shall come and help you pack up your suitcases. Sirius, Remus. I wish you a wonderful night."</p><p>"I'll see you soon, then," Klara managed to say, standing and smoothing her skirt in what she hoped as a dignified way.</p><p>She addressed mostly Remus. "You are staying here as well, aren't you?" She hoped she hid her desperation that she not be alone in a house with Sirius, but Remus' little knowing smile told her she hadn't succeeded.</p><p>"Yes I am. We'll see you soon, Klara."</p><p>Behind him, Sirius stood, still looking a little bewildered. Again she tried for a polite smile, but she was sure it came out a grimace.</p><p>"Sirius."</p><p>"Right. See you soon, Klara.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>"You did what?!"</p><p>Once again in their usual haunt beside the kitchen hearth, Sirius had just recounted to Remus what exactly he'd done to Klara's memory that night in 1980. It was going about as well as Sirius had expected.</p><p>"You heard right the first time," Sirius said dully.</p><p>"You mean to say that you completely erased who she was and forced her into a new life, and she's been living that way for fifteen years? Sirius, I'm surprised you're still alive."</p><p>"Well, she did slap me." Sirius turned his head, and Remus examined the faint bruise that was forming with clinical interest.</p><p>"I'd say you deserved that."</p><p>Sirius gave him an indigent glare, but it lacked conviction. He'd meant what he'd said to Klara in the library. He had deserved it, and more. He knew what he'd done. Sirius wasn't exactly proud of the entire situation, but James had certainly not laid out the bare truth of it in front of him the way Remus was doing.</p><p>"Fifteen years of her life, Sirius," Remus was saying. "That's almost half! Half her life that you essentially stole from her! Merlin, if Nott hadn't showed up and triggered her memory, would you have let her continue on in this pseudo life—"</p><p>"It's not like that! You can ask her when she comes back. She was still Klara on the inside, just using a different name, and she was happy in Austria, I'm sure of it. She was certainly doing what she always wanted to do."</p><p>"That's not the point, Sirius! She had no idea what you were doing. You had no right—"</p><p>"For fuck's sake, Remus, what other choice did I have?" He was out of his chair, hand slamming the table, and for a moment they stared at each other, both trying to form words. Sirius raked a shaking hand through his hair, looking away.</p><p>"Nott and Rosier found her family's home, Remus, despite all the protections she and Dumbledore had cast. They kidnapped her, held her captive for weeks, and as soon as they recovered from her escape, they were going to be after her again. Nott especially. You knew him too."</p><p>Remus glanced up then, and they exchanged a dark look.</p><p>"And what did Klara want to do?" Sirius continued. "She wanted to go back to St. Mungo's. Wanted to carry on her healer work and keep going on Order missions and keep fighting as if she wasn't wearing a bigger target than the rest of us. She wouldn't have gone into hiding. You know her. There's no changing her mind once she's made it, and there would have been no talking her out of anything."</p><p>"So, what, you just made the decision for her?"</p><p>It hadn't been so simple, of course. If it had just been to keep her safe, perhaps Sirius actually would have found another way. But that part of their last night together wasn't his story to tell. Instead, he gave a helpless shrug.</p><p>"I did what I had to. I couldn't lose her, Remus. Yes, it was selfish, but I just…the idea that the next time she could really…"</p><p>He dropped back into his seat, head in his hands. Remus, thankfully, did not launch any more recriminations. Instead, he, too, seemed to deflate, no longer angry.</p><p>"That was why you chased after Nott and Rosier like your life depended on it, wasn't it? So it would be safe for her to return?"</p><p>Sirius shrugged again.</p><p>"Did you intend for Mad-Eye to kill Rosier?"</p><p>"I didn't lose any sleep over it."</p><p>The two sat in the damp, dingy kitchen, silent, each sipping their cold tea. Finally, Remus asked,</p><p>"So, what now?"</p><p>"What do you mean?"</p><p>"I saw the way you still look at her. What are you planning to do?"</p><p>Sirius almost laughed, but the bitter taste in his mouth only morphed his face into a scowl. Did Remus still think him the cocksure twenty-year-old who could charm his way out of anything? How could Remus think he'd have any chance with Klara ever again?</p><p>"The plan is to kill Silas Nott. The bigger plan is to kill Voldemort, so Harry stays safe. Other than that, Remus, I don't make plans anymore."</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Oscillation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Klara returned to the Grimmauld Place house through unauthorised Floo, clipper bag in one hand, wicker hamper in the other. She hadn't even been aware one could connect a fireplace to Floo without Ministry authorisation, but of course, Dumbledore simply did as he saw fit.</p><p>It was Remus who pulled her out the fireplace in the dining room. One look at his face explained what he and Sirius had been discussing in her absence. She straightened and brushed off the ash in as dignified a manner as she could muster.</p><p>"So. He's told you then? What he did to me?"</p><p>"Um." Remus turned away, pretending to busy himself setting her clipper bag down on the carpet. He seemed a little alarmed at the heavy thud it made upon contact, but kept from looking at her. "Yes. That's—yes."</p><p>Klara tilted her head to look at him.</p><p>"No need for you to be discomfited, Remus," she said airily. "We might all be a bit older, but you needn't treat me as if I'm a stranger."</p><p>"What? No, I wouldn't—that's not at all—"</p><p>She smiled and folded a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>"We were friends before, Remus. I'd like it very much if that did not change."</p><p>After a moment, he smiled in return.</p><p>"It was always impossible to change your mind."</p><p>"I believe the term you're looking for is "woman of conviction."</p><p>He had the decency to try to stifle his laugh.</p><p>"Now then," Klara said, reluctantly surveying the dining room. "Is there one room in this house that's actually fit for human occupation, or is this room the one in best condition?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>She lifted the wicker basket.</p><p>"Dinner, Remus. I'd like to eat somewhere not surrounded by decay and all manner of—" She turned her eyes up to pixies buzzing about the brassy chandelier, "—guests."</p><p>"Oh." His brows furrowed, and for a moment he stared at her like she had just spoken to him in Old Norse. Klara lifted an eyebrow, and watched his confusion melted into what she hoped was optimistic surprise.</p><p>"<em>Oh</em>! You brought <em>dinner</em>?"</p><p>"Yes, Remus. Are you quite alright?" asked Klara, fighting between an urge to laugh and a mild concern. Maybe the mould growing in this place was releasing toxic fumes. She'd heard of muggles developing a condition known as "brain fog" from living in mouldy houses.</p><p>"What? Yes. Yes, I'm fine," said Remus distractedly, eyes still glued to her hamper. "Uh…this room and the kitchen are the only ones we've attended to, except for our bedrooms. I'd like to say the kitchen looks a bit cleaner than this, but it's actually a lot worse."</p><p>Klara heaved a resigned sigh. She hadn't exactly expected anything different. It had been why she'd asked Dumbledore to sit and have tea while she packed a passable dinner from leftovers. It was probably a miracle that Sirius and Remus hadn't poisoned themselves cooking in a kitchen that was likely overrun with all variety of creatures and fungi.</p><p>"We'll just have to make do, then," she said, nodding. "This house does have a back garden, does it not?"</p><p>Remus' eyebrows shot up.</p><p>"You want to eat in the garden? We haven't even ventured back there. Not sure what's been growing all these years."</p><p>"Not to worry. I'll take care of it. Show me the door, and if you could please bring out dishes and cutlery that would be wonderful."</p><p>Remus opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, looking thoughtful.</p><p>"Alright then," he said, motioning them out of the room and towards the back of the house. At the top of the stairs to the basement, he nodded to a set of heavy wooden doors at the end of the hall.</p><p>"Garden's just through there. I'll get Sirius. He'll be looking for the dishes you asked for."</p><p>Unsure if Remus was mocking her, Klara narrowed her eyes at him, but he turned swiftly and all but bounded down the stairs.</p><p>Klara, of course, had noticed Sirius' absence the second she'd stepped out of the fireplace, but she wasn't going to bring him up voluntarily. It was rather inconvenient, her instinct to seek him out in every room. It had become a habit when they had been twenty, and it seemed some habits lived in the subconscious forever.</p><p>The garden door was locked. She'd been prepared to try every unlocking charm she knew. but to her surprise, a simple <em>Alohamora</em> was enough. Wand out in case something dangerous really was living on the other side of it, Klara pushed against the door with her shoulder. Slowly, it gave way, and as it opened late-afternoon sunlight poured in, illuminating the pealing wallpaper and rotting wood of the hall.</p><p>She stepped out onto the stone patio and looked around. Remus needn't have worried. A building that no doubt housed generations of dark magic was not an attractive home for most magical plants. Nothing grew in the stone patio and garden bed within ten feet of the house, and beyond that, clumps of muggle weeds shot up in clusters, mostly under the crumbling stone walls separating the space from those of the neighbours.</p><p>Deciding that this would do rather nicely, all things considered, Klara pulled out the picnic blanket she'd packed in the wicker hamper and spread it over the patio, casting a pest-repellent charm around it just to be safe. Then came the pillows, which she arranged, enlarged, and charmed to prop themselves up like chair backs. She opened the hamper, set out food and wine, then ventured to where the weeds grew.</p><p>There were a couple of dandelion clumps, and she picked the larger flowers from those, as well as bunches of tiny purple flowers that looked like pinwheels. Returning to the blanket, she arranged them in the vase she'd brought, plucking dandelion leaves to even out the shape of the bouquet. Finally, she cast first an enlarging charm until the setup resembled a potted tree, then a replicating charm, so that the little picnic area was surrounded by arrangements of giant flowers.</p><p>Settling back onto the cushions, Klara blew out a deep breath, feeling like this was the first chance she'd had to breathe all day. A warm summer breeze wound through her hair, lifting a stray curl across her face, and it felt so wonderful she didn't even mind the inevitable frizz the humid air would impart. Klara felt herself relax. Really, the day could have ended very differently, and Klara was glad it didn't. Being forced by circumstance to live with other human beings—even a former lover who had so unapologetically tampered with her life—might just be best for the health of her present mind. Speaking, of course, from her purely professional standpoint.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>She would never say it aloud, but Klara was relieved for a reason to leave her parents' old flat. When she had been planning her return to Britain, it had seemed the obvious place to live—why would she rent a new flat when she had one at the ready? Unlike her family's estate, which had long ago been inherited by some South African cousin she'd never met, this apartment legally belonged to her. It had taken only a couple of office visits and a few Confunding charms to resurrect her muggle existence and place her name on the deed.</p><p>However, the moment she had Apparated amid the dust-sheet covered furniture in the flat's sitting room, she had realised her mistake.</p><p>Her family had spent Easter evenings there, her father's cigar smoke swirling around them, her mother slipping into colourful German as she scolded her brothers for resting their feet on the 18th Century chairs. She had spent summer afternoons there, having tea with the ladies in society, bored to death of their chatter, but eager to stay to please her mother.</p><p>The September when she was 19, she had stood there in a blue ballgown, her mother tucking flowers into her hair while her father nodded with approval. She'd found that entire year of "coming out" as dull and ridiculous as everything else about upper class society, but her parents both insisted, and for once Klara had wanted them to be proud of the strange daughter they had been saddled with. She had basked in the autumn sunshine, soaking up her parents' rare smiles. Then her brothers had bounded in, and for once all three had given her their attention for an entire evening.</p><p>Now the room was covered in shrouds. Ironic. There hadn't been bodies for them to bury at her family's funeral. Her funeral. Or what should have been. And again, that question, so very poisonous, that she'd asked herself in the weeks locked in Silas Nott's island lodge: Would it have been better if she'd died with them?</p><p>Unprepared for the ghosts in the room, she had let her newly uncovered grief drown her until she was curled up in the middle of the dusty rugs, a raw, trembling mess, unable to move. Then, when evening set in, she had pushed herself off the floor and set about setting the flat to rights. She wasn't going to let emotions derail her plans. There were things she'd come home to do. Plans to carry out. There was no time to be weak and sentimental, she'd told herself, especially about events so far in the past. She had decided she would live well in her parents' flat, and she had been prepared to do just that.</p><p>The aftereffects of Sirius' memory charm were strange and inconsistent. After the initial onslaught of emotional turmoil, Klara discovered that, at least during the day, she could keep those tortured memories of death and loss locked away—so long as she was present and prepared for triggers. The grief and trauma were fresh, naturally, but at the same time they seemed faded. The emotions did have fifteen years to settle in her mind after all, even if she had not dealt with them on the surface. And besides, Klara's Healer degree wasn't not for show. She knew minds, and could master her own best of all. So long as she braced herself, the flat itself would be unlikely to stir up too many unwanted memories.</p><p>But now…well, it wasn't her doing Grimmauld Place was better protected. She needed to give herself the best chance of staying alive, and it was circumstances, not personal weakness, that pushed her to move out. How convenient.</p><p>Having to move in with Sirius was not ideal—she didn't appreciate her constant simmering anger every time she thought of what he'd done—but the honest part of her had to admit that staying in his decomposing excuse for a house was infinitely preferable to living in her parents' old flat, surrounded by ghosts. Besides, at least it seemed Remus would be there too. They wouldn't be alone, thank God.</p><p>And, of course, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place would not stay in its decomposing state for long. Klara was already making cleaning plans, and she would make the house fit for human habitation, even if it killed her.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>Sirius had insisted on carrying the dishes and cutlery as they made their way to the kitchen. Remus had offered to take half, but Sirius had given him a dark look.</p><p>"I did spend twenty full minutes picking the ones in the best condition," he growled, "and you're not the one she's furious at."</p><p>"Do you actually think being the one to bring the dishes will help you return to her good graces?" Remus asked, sounding genuinely curious.</p><p>Sirius glared. "It can't hurt," he said, though he doubted there was anything he could actually do to coax forgiveness from Klara. He had known it fifteen years ago, and he knew it now; she would either choose to forgive him, or she would choose not to, and he could only hope beyond hope for the former, though the latter seemed most likely.</p><p>But maybe, if she had yet to make up her mind—well, the dishes were rather nice, all things considered, and Klara did appreciate good china.</p><p>She had left the garden door ajar, and Remus pushed it open, not without apprehension. Sirius wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Maybe the years had changed them all, but Klara was still Klara, and he wondered, staring at the scene before him, how he could possibly have thought she <em>wouldn't</em> materialise an entire oversized garden among which to have dinner.</p><p>Amid the huge leaves and yellow and purple petals, Klara had set out mountains of pillows on a picnic blanket, and in the middle, she had laid out a veritable feast. She herself was lounging back on one side, swirling a wine glass, her eyes closed and face tipped up to catch the rays of evening sun.</p><p>She opened her eyes at the sound of the door opening, and smiled her quiet smile at them. The sunlight caught her heavy-lidded eyes, making the irises glow like Firewhisky, and Sirius nearly dropped his dishes. Beside him, Remus too had stilled, staring at the entire scene as if something had glitched in his brain.</p><p>After a moment of complete silence, Klara pushed herself up to sitting.</p><p>"You see," she addressed Remus. "There's nothing nefarious growing out here. Much more pleasant than inside." She gestured at her Bedouin tent setup with her wine glass.</p><p>"I hope the two of you don't mind sitting on the ground," she said, and turned to look at Sirius for the first time since they'd emerged. "You're welcome to conjure some chairs and a table if you'd prefer. That's beyond my Transfiguration capabilities"</p><p>"What? No," Sirius was quick to reply, walking over and sinking into the pillows. His folded leg was too near hears, and as she shifted her foot came dangerously close to skimming his."This is—uh, perfect."</p><p>"Yes, it is," said Remus, also coming to sit down. "We were just surprised by the food. It has been mostly canned beans and fried eggs around here, though Kreacher does roast beef every so often."</p><p>Klara tried to keep her face neutral, Sirius knew, but the horror still manifested in a little wrinkle of her nose.</p><p>"You poor things," she frowned, setting glasses in front of them and pouring chilled wine. "I did notice that both of you appear rather on the thin side, especially you, Sirius."</p><p>Their eyes met, and he saw a flash of what he thought looked like anguish pass over her features, but it was gone before he could be sure her expression had even changed. She looked down.</p><p>"And uh…what is this Kreacher?"</p><p>Sirius scoffed. "He's my family's old house elf. I'm sure I've mentioned him to you some time or other. Great company, that one."</p><p>She tilted her head. "Oh. Yes, I believe you have. How unpleasant for all three of you, then, living together." She took another sip of her wine, then gestured to the dishes she'd laid out before Sirius could mutter any more complaints about Kreacher.</p><p>"I'd flatter myself a better cook than an ancient elf, so I expect you both to fill out during my stay here," she said briskly, reaching for an empty plate and cutting a large slice of what appeared to be quiche. It was dotted with cherry tomatoes in various shades of yellow, orange and red. The rich scent of pastry swirled in the air, and for the first time in a long time Sirius could feel his mouth water.</p><p>"Unfortunately, I had to use the replicating charm on most of this, so they have suffered on flavour. You'll have to excuse me. I did make everything thinking it was just for me."</p><p>Klara set the quiche on the blanket as Sirius and Remus both jumped in to assure her that they were happy for the meal no matter what. She didn’t look up, seeming to focus on cutting a second slice.</p><p>"Neither of you have ever been this polite with me," she said quietly. "I meant what I said, Remus. I'm not a stranger, despite Sirius' efforts."</p><p>Sirius felt himself visibly cringe. He couldn't help it. Beside him, Remus, who had just taken a sip of the wine, seemed to choke, and coughed into his sleeve.</p><p>"Klara, I'm—"</p><p>She nudged the plates at them. "Eat, please," she interrupted, and again, the shock of it made Sirius shut his mouth.</p><p>Klara, as if she hadn't said anything out the ordinary, was now lifting a radish garden salad onto smaller plates.</p><p>Remus recovered, picked up a plate and cut a large bite with his fork. He gave Sirius a significant look, and Sirius, feeling a gloomy resignation settle in his stomach, also picked up a plate. So, yes, this would likely be his life now. Klara in a temper was covered in thorns one couldn't even see, and she didn't seem interested in hearing him apologise.</p><p>On the bright side, however, she was speaking to him, and she would need to continue doing so, living here. That was better than nothing, surely. Things had always been better when she was around, and again he snuck a look at her, dark curls framing her lovely, familiar face.</p><p>His mood lifting, Sirius bit into the quiche. The tomatoes were tart and savoury, the onions sweet, and the pastry itself was flavoured with rosemary and olives. There were pieces of spiced sausage spread throughout, their heat mellowed by the soft cheese that held everything together. Sirius didn't fancy himself particularly dramatic, but right now, this was likely the best thing he'd ever eaten.</p><p>"Klara, this is delicious," said Remus, already halfway through his slice of quiche.</p><p>"It makes no sense, but you always were the best cook I've ever met," said Sirius, reaching now for what looked like potato salad laced with red onions and tiny pickles.</p><p>Klara narrowed her eyes at him. This was one of the things he had liked to tease her over.</p><p>"I know I am, but there's no need for flattery, Sirius. And I've told you more than once. My cooking makes perfect sense. I'd rather not eat anything unless it tastes good."</p><p>Sirius laughed, the sound foreign even to his own ears, and watched as an answering smile spread reluctantly on her face. So perfect, the arc of her lips, and he wanted to trace it with his thumb. He wondered if her mouth still felt like velvet. How surreal this seemed, sitting here with Klara and Remus, drinking wine, surrounded by flowers and a dinner Klara had made. </p><p>For the tenth time that day, Sirius could almost imagine that he was twenty again, that the war hadn't yet taken their innocence and joy, that James and Peter and Lily would join them any minute now, and they would lounge here, drinking and laughing until the three stars one could see in London began to sparkle in the night sky.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>The first time Klara had cooked for him was during the summer after graduation, in the kitchen of the flat she'd shared with Pandora Fawley. It had been back when people weren't yet so afraid to live, and they had planned to attend some party or other that evening. Sirius, feeling woefully cheated of her company in the month since leaving school, had arrived just after noon, hoping to catch her alone.</p><p>Klara had been chopping cherry tomatoes, humming to herself as Schumann's Kreisleriana floated in from the living room record player. Behind her, a pot simmered, a spoon charmed to stir its contents every so often. Sirius stood in the doorway, watching her, wondering where a girl like her had learned to use a kitchen knife. It was several minutes before she noticed his presence. She looked up, her surprised eyes meeting his as she absently popped a bit of tomato into her mouth. She licked a bit of juice from the corner of her lips. Sirius felt his throat go dry.</p><p>Her confusion melted into an expectant smile as he walked towards her.</p><p>"You're rather early," she said, leaning back against his chest. "The party doesn't start for another—" she peered at his wrist, now wrapped around her waist, "—oh, eight hours or so."</p><p>"I am nothing if not prompt," he said gravely, and she laughed.</p><p>"Utter nonsense. You'd be late to everything if James didn't send you daily reminders."</p><p>Sirius made a mock-affronted scoff.</p><p>"You think so little of me?”</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>"Hmm," she shrugged, returning to her tomatoes. "Who says I think about you at all?"</p>
</div><p>"Is that how it is?" he murmured into her hair, used to her little barbs. Klara smelled the way she always did—sweet and woodsy and soft—and he smiled when he felt her shiver at his breath on her neck.</p><p>"I...um…Sirius, keep doing that and there won't be anything to eat for lunch besides raw tomatoes."</p><p>"I wasn't expecting any food at all. No great loss to me."</p><p>She swatted lightly at his arm.</p><p>"It is to me. I've been dreaming about this pasta I'm making all morning. Tomato and squash and courgette and…mmm..." He was nibbling at her neck, and it was several moments before he replied.</p><p>"Damn. Now you've made me hungry."</p><p>"Help me then," she said, composing herself and tossing him a squash to cut.</p><p>"Where did you learn how to cook, anyway," he asked, hopping up onto her counter and studying the squash with no intention of cutting anything. Growing up, he hadn't known a single Pureblood girl who had any idea how to boil even water. They had house elves for kitchen work. He had assumed it was the same for girls from muggle families like hers.</p><p>Klara gave him a long-suffering look, then retrieved the squash from his unhelpful hands.</p><p>"You know how my brothers are. They wouldn't play with me when I was little, so I'd spend hours in the kitchens, watching our cook. When I got a little older, I started asking to help out."</p><p>"And your very proper mother let you?"</p><p>Klara shrugged. "She was never interested in me long enough to notice, as long as I showed up to tea."</p><p>Sirius opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. He had met Lady Sutton just the once, and she had vaguely reminded him of Walburga, but it would seem Klara's mother was cruel in a wholly different way.</p><p>Having finished with her tomatoes, Klara moved on to hacking at the squash.</p><p>"You know," said Sirius, hopping down from the counter. "You <em>are</em> a witch. You don't have to chop things by hand. Actually, I'm pretty sure all this would be much faster if you charmed it."</p><p>"I know. Pandora got me a cooking charms book for my birthday, but I like chopping things by hand. I like touching everything."</p><p>Sirius heaved an exaggerated sigh, and returned to playing with her hair. She stared resolutely at her hands, but he could see her reluctant grin. Taking his window of opportunity, he stopped her hand, then ducked around to catch her mouth with his. She gave a little mew of protest, but melted into him, the knife clattering to the chopping board.</p><p>Her lips were cool, and she tasted like tomato and wine—tart and sweet. He slid one hand behind her neck, drawing her closer into him, while the other hand smoothed over the silk of her dress and drew it up so he could touch her bare leg.</p><p>She gasped, and he gave a satisfied hum. Eventually, she found the presence of mind to pull away, but lunch was made without Klara picking up the knife again. Sirius had thought then that that may have been the best meal he'd ever tasted, and afterwards she'd pulled him into her bedroom, her silk dress already a puddle on the dining room floor. They missed the party that night.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>Sirius was fairly certain he'd gained about a stone in the past two hours. He and Remus had vanquished the quiche until there weren't even crumbs left in the tin, and in a lazy, post-meal stupor, the three of them had sat and watched the moon rise until a sudden evening rain had forced them back inside.</p><p>Klara resolutely refused to unpack anything from her clipper bag aside from a sleeping velvety sleeping bag and a bag of toiletries.</p><p>"If this is the cleanest room," she said as the three of them stood in the dining room, "I'll camp in here." She proceeded to levitate the tables and chairs to form a makeshift bed platform, even as Remus and Sirius both offered to vacate their bedrooms.</p><p>"That's kind of you both," she said, laying out her sleeping bag, "but neither of you has had a roommate in, what, seventeen years? You'll find it much less pleasant than you remember, especially as you'd have to share the bed."</p><p>"But you can't just sleep in the dining room," Sirius protested, eyeing the buzzing pixies with concern. They were fluttering mostly around their nest today, weary of the new human in the house, but it wouldn't last when they determined that Klara was not a predator.</p><p>"Why ever not? It'll do as well as any other room." She narrowed her eyes at the pixies too, and after a moment drew up a large <em>Silencio</em> charm that miraculously engulfed the entire chandelier. At once the room settled into silence, and they all sagged a little in relief.</p><p>"Besides," she continued, "I'll be able to move into a clean bedroom tomorrow." Both Sirius and Remus gave her sceptical looks.</p><p>"Klara, I know you're good at this sort of stuff, but this house isn't just old," Sirius said, hopping up on the table. "There are all sorts of dark things lurking, especially the higher up you go."</p><p>She waved away his concern. "I doubt there will be anything too dangerous, and if there is," she turned to Remus, "I've heard you were the most popular Defence Against the Dark Arts professor Hogwarts has had in a long time."</p><p>Remus looked flustered, his face turning pink, (the git). Sirius smirked at her.</p><p>"You're sure you want us helping out? You <em>have</em> seen the…er, <em>progress</em> we've made. All this has taken us three weeks."</p><p>"Sirius Black, are you trying to get out of cleaning your own house?"</p><p>"No, no, just warning you," he responded quickly, throwing his hands up in defence. It was Remus' turn to smirk.</p><p>"Well, thank you for that," said Klara, rummaging in her clipper bag. "Nonetheless. Tomorrow we start cleaning after lunch."</p><p>Remus raised an eyebrow.</p><p>"Lunch? You don't think we sleep in past noon everyday do you?"</p><p>"Oh," she looked up, surprised. "No, of course not. But I'm going into St. Mungo's in the morning, and—"</p><p>"You're <em>what</em>?" In an instant, Sirius felt the airy playfulness evaporate from the room, panic condensing in his chest. He must have not heard right. She was going <em>where</em>?</p><p>Klara had straightened, holding a neatly folded dressing gown in her hand, her expression once again unreadable.</p><p>"I'm going into St. Mungo's," she repeated, levelling him a steady look.</p><p>"Why the hell—"</p><p>"Sirius—" Remus tried for a calming hand on his elbow, but Sirius shook away.</p><p>"Why the <em>hell</em> would you do that?!" From the corner of his eye, he saw Remus about to speak again, think better of it, and slip from the room.</p><p>"What a question," said Klara, turning away to continue her rummaging. "I'm a Healer. St. Mungo's is a hospital. I'm going to see patients."</p><p>"Are you <em>mad</em>? You're just going to keep working in a public hospital as if a depraved madman hasn't just attacked you? <em>Again</em>?"</p><p>"Not that I'm obliged to tell you anything, Sirius," she replied coolly, still not looking at him, "but I will just be seeing two patients for now."</p><p>"Klara, you can't!" Panic swirled with frustrated anger, clouding his mind in a dark haze. Why couldn't she just stay put? She knew damn well Nott was probably hunting her, looking for every opportunity to strike. Why was she so damn <em>stubborn</em>?</p><p>"You can't go about in public as if nothing's out of the ordinary! I thought you moved in here because Dumbledore was concerned about your safety! And he bloody well he should be!"</p><p>A sound resembling a tumbling stack of rocks issued from Klara's clipper bag. When she looked back at him, the stony hard look from the library had returned.</p><p>"Who are you to have <em>any</em> say in what I do, Sirius Black?" She took one, then two steady steps towards him. "I'm an adult. I've always taken care of myself just fine. Let me remind you that I got myself out of Silas Nott's lodge in '80. I didn't need your help then, and I certainly don't need it now." She was so close how that Sirius could feel the angry heat swirling off her, her eyes brittle, and Sirius felt words die on his tongue. She was right. He hadn't managed to be of any use to her back then, not when it mattered.</p><p>"So. Unless you'd like to try that Greek spell on me again because you think you know best, I suggest you refrain from telling me what I can't do."</p><p>She turned away. The panic flooded back with his voice.</p><p>"Damn it, Klara!" Sirius all but yelled, pacing now and rubbing the heels of his hands against his brow. "I'm not trying to tell you—Oh, for Merlin's sake, why can't you understand the kind of danger you're in? You've got to be careful, and going to St. Mungo's, taking unnecessary risks, that's exactly—"</p><p>"Exactly what, Sirius?" Again, her quiet voice cut through his tirade. Her back was to him, but he heard every soft word, felt their sting.</p><p>"Exactly the reason I couldn't be trusted to make my own choices? Exactly the reason you forced me into an entirely different life? I <em>wanted</em> to stay and fight. I <em>wanted</em>—" She stopped, inhaling a shaky breath. Sirius wished he could say something—anything—but he was paralysed, his chest unbearably leaden.</p><p>"Whatever we used to be to each other, I never belonged you. You had no right then, and you certainly have no right now to decide what I do."</p><p>The stillness between them grew suffocating. It was long moments before Sirius could make a sound.</p><p>"Everything you said. It's all true, but I just—I couldn't let you—"</p><p>"And that's the problem. Please. It's been a long day, and I have an early morning."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"Good night, Sirius."</p><p>He shut his eyes, trying to calm the crippling feeling that was starting to resemble despair.</p><p>"Fine. Good night, Klara."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: So, yeah, things are going to be a bit of a bumpy ride for the next few chapters. Is Klara extra AF? Yes. She can't help it. Also, I HIGHLY recommend listening to Schumann's Kreisleriana #2. There's this Incandescently beautiful bit towards the end that just makes me swoon every time I hear it. Very fitting for the flashback scene.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Detachment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>She couldn't breathe. All was red hot. All was hell. Heat had shape, moulding to her body. Suffocating. Burning. Over the roar of flames, she heard screams, and then she heard laughter. Hot. Searing. Struggling for air. Screams again, and this time fire blistered her throat. </em>
</p><p>Klara woke trembling in the milky white of dawn, clammy from sweat and tangled in her sleeping bag. Gingerly, she extracted herself and lay atop her makeshift bed, pulling away the hair that had stuck to her neck, panting to catch her breath.</p><p>For a few minutes, she lay very still, listening for the sound of worried footsteps, but the house was quiet. She hadn't screamed aloud then, thank goodness. The last thing Klara needed was someone to be concerned about her nightmares. She didn't have the time or need to deal with the inconvenient episodes.</p><p>Now she glared down at her damp sheets and nightclothes. Ever since the return of her memories, she'd had an aversion to being overly warm—no surprises there. One didn't need a degree in mind Healing to understand why, after the way her family died, her body might respond to heat with unpleasant dreams and flashbacks.</p><p>Klara expected the symptoms to subside in a few weeks as her brain became accustomed to her old life, and once she dealt with Nott, that should be an end to the inconvenience. For now, she would simply need to limit the triggers around her. During the day, so long as she cast a discrete cooling charm whenever the temperature crept close to uncomfortable, she could carry on as normal. At night, she had learned that a general cooling spell before sleep had the same effect.</p><p>Last night, amid the mental fatigue of the day, she had forgotten the charm. Of course her body had overheated in an old house in the middle of July. She had no one to blame but herself, a fact that caused unreasonable vexation to bulge in her chest.</p><p>Sighing, perhaps even grumbling, Klara felt beside her pillow for her watch. 5:38. Nauseatingly early, but not early enough. There would certainly be no returning to sleep. Even if she did not have an 8AM appointment, she could still see roaring flames and crashing beams behind her closed eyelids.</p><p>"<em>Hure." </em></p><p>Cursing under her breath, Klara pushed herself up off her makeshift bed and stepped onto the little rug she'd laid below the table so she would not have to touch the revolting carpet. She stretched, absently massaging her forearms and wrists, which had been sore ever since her return. Must have been all the packing and cleaning, and now she would add on more.</p><p>Slowly, her body still lethargic in protest of the early hour, she peeled the damp pyjamas from her limbs and cast <em>Scourgify</em> on both clothes and body. With her wand awkwardly angled at her hair, she cast a modified <em>Aguamenti</em> so that a fine mist of water landed in her curls. Then she shook them out, scrunched them, and pulled the top section of her hair back with a clip.</p><p>Hopefully she wouldn't too closely resemble Medusa today, though with London humidity, that might be asking too much. She desperately wanted a bath—the great solution to all woes—but it was clearly untenable in current circumstances. Perhaps tonight, if they were lucky and productive that afternoon…</p><p>After washing, dressing and tying an apron around her waist, Klara rummaged through her clipper bag until she found the two sacks of groceries she had brought from parents' flat and levitated them as she made her way through the house and down the stairs.</p><p>The sight of the kitchen nearly made Klara drop the groceries on her feet. This was not what she needed at present, especially before she'd had her coffee. It was barely six, and the morning had already evolved from unpleasant to disgusting.</p><p>When Remus had said the kitchen was "much worse" than the dining room, she had imagined more dust, rot on the wall, and spiders and pests in the corners. Not…was that <em>Mimbletonia fungus</em>? Covering the entire kitchen? How did that even make its way to England, and how was she supposed to—? But no. Now was not the time for cleaning. She'd have plenty of time to consult books if need be, but later, in the afternoon. Now she needed her coffee and whipped cream.</p><p>Steeling herself, she nudged her way to the stove, careful not to step on the sticky green tendrils that webbed the floor. Sirius and Remus had cleared a bit of space on the long wooden table, and, sighing with disgust, Klara set down her groceries and set about making breakfast.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>At 7:45, Klara walked into St. Mungo's Hospital, her feet finding their way through the corridors and to the stairs seemingly on their own. Right out of Hogwarts, she had spent nearly every day here for more than two years, working as a trainee Healer in an emergency ward created chiefly for victims of Death Eater attacks. In the passageways, the portraits lining the walls were so familiar that for some moments she could not tell if the pained wailing and bellowed instructions echoing around her were present-day reality or memories from the war.</p><p>She had despised the chaos of the emergency and trauma room—the constant stress and panic of patients and Healers alike—but Britain had needed Healers then, and Klara had always had a quick hand, especially at Charm. Of course she stayed. She had never been the best with physical damage, never even wanted to be a conventional Healer, but when a wizard's life was thrust into one's hands, one learned to smother the self-doubt and do what had to be done.</p><p>The emergency ward had been retired after '81, Dumbledore had told her, but they both knew that sooner or later, it would need to be revived. And then what? Would she return to the emergency trauma work? Could she even stomach it this second time?</p><p>Klara emerged through the double doors on the fourth floor to find a rotund, white-haired Healer waiting for her, pacing on the balls of her feet and wringing her hands. Her eyes lit up when she spotted Klara, and surged forward to grip Klara's hand in both of hers, shaking it eagerly.</p><p>"Oh, my dear, my dear, you must be the mind specialist from Austria. Oh, I cannot <em>begin</em> to tell you how glad I am you're finally here. You really are much younger than I expected, I have to say, but I heard Albus Dumbledore <em>personally</em> recommended your expertise, so you must be most skilled, <em>most</em> skilled."</p><p>Klara could not decide if the witch before her more closely resembled a bee or a bunny. For a second she froze, her brain unable to process her slew of words. Then, as always, decades of her mother's training took hold, and she smiled the warmly polite smile she reserved for acquaintances.</p><p>"My name is Klara Montagu. Pleasure to meet you."</p><p>"Nifflers and Kneazles, your English is <em>excellent</em>, my dear, simply excellent. I was worried I'd have to use a lot of hand gestures or something, but no, <em>hah</em>, of course not." For a moment Klara considered correcting her assumptions, but she had already sped on, and really, if the Healer couldn't recognise that Montagu was about as English as one could get, Klara rather thought anything she said would just evaporate into the ether.</p><p>"Now, the family of the patients are already in my office," continued the Healer, urging Klara down the left corridor, "so I thought, oh, I'll just go and wait for Healer Montagu by the stairs in case she gets lost. Good to see you made it up here in one piece. Oh, my name is Dorothy Willoughby, by the way. I'm one of the Healers in charge of the long-term residents' ward. Wonderful to meet you, simply wonderful."</p><p>Klara smiled again, then frowned.</p><p>"You said the family are already in your office?" She looked down at her watch, even though she knew perfectly well that she was early.</p><p>Healer Willoughby stopped walking and again began to wring her hands.</p><p>"Yes, well, they were here rather early. That's just the way she is, Augusta. Very prompt, very serious, you know, even at school. Very commanding presence, <em>ahem</em>, yes, most commanding, most, uh, intimidating, one could almost say…" She gave a nervous chuckle, then smiled hopefully up at Klara.</p><p>"Dear, I noticed you didn't bring robes with you. Shall I'll just go find you some scrub robes? You're fairly tall, aren't you? But I'm sure we'll have a pair that fits." Already she was bumbling away, but Klara lightly caught her sleeve.</p><p>"There's really no need, Healer Willoughby, but thank you. I'll be doing very little physical examination, and I'm leaving before noon."</p><p>"Oh, please, call me Dottie," she said absently, looking disappointed. Poor woman. She really was looking for any excuse to delay returning to her office. "And…well, I suppose, if you're sure…"</p><p>"Yes, very sure," said Klara, tilting her head to indicate that Healer Willoughby should lead the way to her office.</p><p>She would have liked to help Healer Willoughby's frayed nerves, truly, but delaying the return would only increase her anxiety, and besides, Klara knew from bitter experience that the collars on the Healer robes were scratchy.</p><p>They walked to an office near the end of the hallway, passing various Healers and patients in wheelchairs or stretchers. Before the door, Healer Willoughby visibly trembled for a second before puffing up her resolve and turning the handle.</p><p>"Dottie, back I see," came an imperious voice, and Klara stepped into the office to see…was that a stuffed nightingale on a hat? The owner of the hat, noticing her presence, stood now to her full imposing height and proffered a bony hand for her to shake.</p><p>"Klara Montagu, I take it. Augusta Longbottom. I've heard many things about you over the years."</p><p>Klara gripped her brittle hand as firmly as she dared and smiled her polite smile.</p><p>"Wonderful to meet you as well, Mrs. Longbottom." Instinctively Klara searched her face for any resemblance to the Prefect and friend who had helped her navigate that first daunting year at Hogwarts, but it seemed Frank took after his father.</p><p>"This is my grandson, Neville," continued Mrs. Longbottom after an imperious nod, and from behind her she pulled a nervous boy of about 15. Klara hadn't even noticed another person in the room.</p><p>She turned to the boy, and froze. Her breath caught, and for just a second she was twelve again, looking into the inviting face of Head Girl Alice Fortescue. But no, no of course not. This was only her son, and at once the differences in height and brows and demeanour were evident. Composing herself, hoping her lapse had gone unnoticed, Klara smiled again, as warmly as she could, and reached out her hand. He extended his arm tentatively, but she gave his hand what she hoped was an encouraging squeeze.</p><p>"Of course," she said, "It's lovely to see you, Neville. We have met, though I trust you have little recollection."</p><p>To her dismay, Klara saw Neville give a jolt of surprise—and it did not seem to be the good kind—then stare at her with a sort of horrified confusion.</p><p>"She means when you were an infant, Neville dear," said Mrs. Longbottom, giving Neville a patient look. "She knew your parents." She turned to Klara. "My son and his wife always did hold you in high regard, Healer Montagu."</p><p>"And I them," said Klara, turning back to Neville. "You look very much like your mother."</p><p>"Oh," said Neville, looking like he didn't know how to respond. "Thanks."</p><p>"Er, shall we sit down?" Healer Willoughby, who had finally gathered enough courage to speak again in Mrs. Longbottom's presence, gestured to the set-up of armchairs around a coffee table. They sat.</p><p>"Now, er, Augusta here's already signed the appropriate paperwork, so here are the patient files—" She handed Klara two very thin folders, which Klara took, but didn't open.</p><p>"Thank you," she said, folding her hands over the files on her lap and turning to Mrs. Longbottom. "I will give them a thorough read, of course, but I actually prefer to do an examination on the patients before reading history. Helps me stay unbiased."</p><p>"I see," said Mrs. Longbottom. "Very sensible. Dottie?"</p><p>"Oh, yes, of course." Healer Willoughby, seeming flustered by Klara's deviation from her expected course, popped out of her seat, cheeks wobbling. "I'll just go see if Miriam's got the patients settled. Oh, I do wish Healer Galen could have made it today, but spell damage, you know, rather unpredictable work—one of his patients took a rather nasty downturn early in the morning."</p><p>"Of course, I understand," Klara replied, and turned back to the Longbottoms as she left the room.</p><p>"Now," she began, taking care to use her calming professional voice, more for herself than others. She must not view the Longbottoms as friends now, not as people she once laughed with and fought next to. They were her patients, and detachment was the first thing they drilled into you at the Institute.</p><p>"I know you've signed the waivers, but I'll still need you to be in the room with me while I perform my examinations. As the patients' guardian, I'll explain to you each phase of my exam, and I'll need your verbal consent."</p><p>"I see," Mrs. Longbottom said again, narrowing her eyes in thought. "And what exactly will these exams be?"</p><p>"Today will consist mostly of Legilimency, to see what the psychological damage is," said Klara, settling into her familiar professional exposition. "When we say 'Legilimency' in layman terms, it almost always refers to a witch or wizard accessing another's medial temporal lobe, where most episodic memory is stored, or their lateral sulcus, where stream of consciousness manifests."</p><p>Here, Klara indicated the area above her ear, and waited for Mrs. Longbottom to nod her understanding.</p><p>"However, by the same principles, we mind Healers are trained to see inside other areas of the brain, including those that control, for example, judgement, vision, or motor functions. We then perform adjustments to the structure of the mind through highly targeted potions and charms. It's a relatively new field of work, but in Germany and Austria we've had many decades of research into mind-specific Healing.</p><p>Mrs. Longbottom looked slightly taken aback here, and Neville again looked startled.</p><p>"You mean, you can go inside and do spells that change someone's brain?" This was Neville, who was staring at her with huge eyes.</p><p>"Yes, in essence," said Klara, launching into her explanation. This part usually did give people pause. "If you consider spell theory, many spells do exactly this altering of mental structure without the caster needing to use Legilimency. The most obvious is <em>Obliviate</em>, but others, ranging from the Babbling Curse to various sleeping charms to the Imperius Curse, were all created by wizards through Legilimency theory, to target and manipulate a certain area of the brain.</p><p>"In the case of—" Klara felt the names stick in her throat, but forced them to form again on her tongue. "In the case of Frank and Alice, prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse likely overstimulated the somatosensory region of their brains, and that stressor probably spread damage to surrounding areas. Of course, this is all speculation until I can examine their brains first hand."</p><p>Mrs. Longbottom was nodding again, but Neville looked up at her, determined.</p><p>"Does that mean you can…you can fix them? All the Healers here have said it's impossible, but…"</p><p>"I can't tell you anything either way yet," Klara said quickly. She had told Dumbledore she'd have a look and try her best, and for the sake of her friends...but the rational Healer in her knew even now that their chances at any sort of improvement were slim.</p><p>"I will try everything I know, but given how little improvement they've seen on their own…I don't want to give you the expectation of miracles, Neville."</p><p>She saw the boy hang his head, and Klara wanted to reach out and squeeze his hand again, but before he could ask any more questions, the door to the office opened and Healer Willoughby stepped back inside.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>Dumbledore had vaguely explained the state of the Longbottoms the previous day, but as Klara entered the treatment room, she had to dig her nails into her palms and force her professional mask to stay plastered over her face. The two people sitting in the armchairs were barely recognisable, yet so unmistakably shells of who they once were.</p><p>Alice, her face no longer round and lively, looked shrivelled and gaunt. Her hair was thin and limp, and her skin had taken on an ashen colour, as if she was already halfway in the grave. Her eyes darted nervously around the room, foot tapping and fingers rubbing together.</p><p>Frank's entire head of hair had gone grey, his forehead set with deep wrinkles, and he sat back in his chair unmoving. At their entrance, he slowly turned his head to the door, but his eyes stayed unfocused and uninterested, glassy and still in their hollow sockets.</p><p>Neville and Mrs. Longbottom were already sitting down next to them, Neville tentatively taking Alice's hand, and Klara stood to the back of the room for a few moments, trying to regain her composure. Detach. Compartmentalise. Patients, not friends. Not the parents of this brave, timid boy. She repeated the words to herself, remembering how her professor at the Institute always insisted no one, including the professor herself, was to see a patient until they were perfectly composed. She gripped her wand and tucked the storm of emotions firmly away.</p><p>"Alright," she finally said. "I believe I will begin with Frank." It really made no difference, but Klara would need Neville to let go of Alice's hand when she did her exam.</p><p>Healer Willoughby helped turn her chair to face Frank's, and Klara lined up her eyes with his lifeless ones.</p><p>"I'm going to start with the somatosensory region I spoke of, where I imagine the origin of the damage is," she told Mrs. Longbottom, and at her assent, Klara dove in.</p><p>In her mind's eye, the barren desert of shrivelled, tangled neurones nearly shocked the breath from her. All around her was the greying brown of death, and an overcast of smog rolled through the field. In a healthy brain, this sensory region of the mind was an intricate web of sensation networks, its technicoloured threads glossy and shimmering as they received constant touch input from various parts of the body. Here, however, it seemed the sensation networks had tangled together into an impossible-looking mass, each strand lifeless and charred.</p><p>
  <em>Detach, Klara. Patients, not friends. Clinical patients. </em>
</p><p>"Mrs. Longbottom," said Klara, hoping her voice did not shake. "Would you please touch Frank's hand?" A rustle of robes, and within the mass of tangled neurones, she saw weak glimmers, like flashes of sun reflected off wet mud, though they weren't the ones normally connected with sensations from the hand.</p><p>"And now his knee?"</p><p>Again, the random glimmers of sensory input, not at all in the right place. It seemed the repeated use of the Cruciatus had shocked the nerve receptors into shrivelling and knotting together, so that a touch on the hand or knee would feel to Frank like simultaneous sharp stabs to the ear, tingles in the shoulder, and a coldness in the ankle.</p><p>Organising her mental notes for easier Pensieve extraction later, Klara informed Mrs. Longbottom and moved on through Franks visual and auditory inputs, which seemed largely unaffected. Next she delved into the stores of episodic memory, and for a few minutes, Klara was feeling hopeful that Frank's long-term memory had not been too gravely affected either.</p><p>Because of his lack of normal emotion, Klara had to work at finding entrances to strings of recollections, but the memories themselves seemed fairly intact. She scanned over years of childhood and adolescent memories, careful not to delve in. She had no need to see into individual memories, and no desire to accidentally encounter the last few moments of lucidity before he and Alice had become lost to the torture.</p><p>However, as she moved closer to the front of the brain that controlled personality and rational thought, the memories began to fragment and separate, losing their meaning and logic even as Klara perused them. The smog had returned, engulfing her vision, and it soon became a violent storm.</p><p>"<em>Mein Gott," </em>she breathed before she could stop herself. She had never seen or heard of anything like this before. Suddenly she was surrounded by a swirling, howling hurricane of jagged memory fragments, and she struggled to move forward, trying to see beyond the maelstrom to the mental structure beneath.</p><p>It was the most desolate area she'd encountered yet. Charred fragments of neurone networks seemed to be all that remained, and every so often one or two threads would twitch and attempt a flash of connection. And still, the hurricane of memories howled around her, and Klara realised with a start that the jagged fragments were slashing into her own mind, stinging like heavy, pelting rain.</p><p>Gasping, she forced her eyes shut, clutching her wand as she dragged her consciousness out of Frank's brain. She fell back into her chair, out of breath, her palm pressing hard where her heart was beating painfully against her ribs.</p><p>She registered the words of concern and alarm around her, but she was deep in her own mind, gulping air and trying suppress the images of flames and rough stones that had started to escape her own carefully contained memories.</p><p>"It's alright," she said when she finally composed herself, attempting a smile. "I was simply caught off guard. It happens sometimes, and the best thing to do is take a break," she lied easily, as if Frank's mind wasn't a horrific wreck like she had never encountered.</p><p>"Is it…is it very bad in there?" Neville's voice was a thin thread of a sound, and Klara couldn't help remembering with a pang the boisterous baby who'd babbled and laughed that one time Frank and Alice had needed to bring their son to an Order meeting.</p><p>"It is certainly…not normal. There is a lot of damage, but the good news—" Klara paused, selecting her words carefully. "The good news is that I can clearly make out the damage in most of the brain."</p><p>"And what does that mean?" Mrs. Longbottom finally spoke, and Klara found her voice was more drawn than before. The poor woman was just as anxious as her grandson.</p><p>"Nothing in terms of a prognosis, but it does mean there are a variety of tests I can administer, to see if he might respond to treatment."</p><p>Grandmother and grandson exchanged a look, and she saw Mrs. Longbottom's entire angular body stiffen. Klara stiffened too. She hoped to hope that she would be able to make at least a tiny bit of headway, that she'd be able to find something positive to tell them both. This was likely the only piece of positive news they'd heard about Frank and Alice, ever, and Klara couldn't bear the prospect of disappointing them. And yet, she had an obligation to temper their expectations.</p><p>"Again, I do have to stress, I can't work miracles. I don't know yet if Frank will respond to treatment, and even if he does, the improvement might not be noticeable."</p><p>"Yes. Yes, I understand, Healer Montagu." Mrs. Longbottom was nodding now, the nightingale bobbing in such a ridiculous manner that Klara, amid the tense gravity of the room, felt hysterical laughter start to tickle her throat.</p><p>"Just…well, I trust you will do your best. Will you move on to Alice now?"</p><p>This time Klara was very careful to prevent contamination and Legilimency reversal into her own mind. She started with the storms that raged in the frontal cortex, where the webs responsible for Alice's personality and rational thought were, like in Frank's mind, charred and shrivelled like bits of roots from a dead tree.</p><p>Her sensory inputs and motor skills seemed less damaged, and her emotions seemed more active and volatile, meaning Klara had much less trouble finding her memories. Just as she was beginning to withdraw, however, something slipped in her hold over the strings of memories, and Klara felt herself delving into the closest one.</p><p>It should not have been distressing. It should not have even been a shock.</p><p>It was only a memory made post-madness, just a hospital ward with flowery curtains and tidy beds. Alice walked up and down the aisle, peering up at every sound. But as Alice walked back to sit next to Frank, her mind was entirely flooded with a tender, glowing warmth, and an exquisite joy overtook her as she looked at Frank's distant eyes, her hands slinking up to gently touch his greying hair.</p><p>And Klara could not breathe, letting the feeling wash over her own mind. Even when she had lost herself, Alice had not lost this warmth.</p><p>Just then, the ward door opened, and both turned. In the door was Augusta Longbottom, this time with a brent goose on her hat, holding the hand of a Neville who looked no older than five. And at the sight of the boy, that feeling swelled again, different from when she'd looked at Frank, but beautiful just the same. So wonderful she thought her chest would burst from it.</p><p>She made her way to her son.</p><p>It was not until Klara withdrew from Alice Longbottom's mind that she realised she was crying. Cheeks burning from embarrassment at her public display of emotion, Klara gratefully accepted Healer Willoughby's handkerchief. She couldn't <em>believe</em> how far she'd let herself fall into her patient's emotional memories. She'd <em>never</em> done that before, and just as Professor Kolwalski repeatedly warned, things had become a horrible mess.</p><p>Three pairs of curious eyes bored into her, but Klara couldn't explain just now. Instead, she reached for Neville's hand, giving him a watery smile.</p><p>"I hope you know, my dear, dear boy, that your mother loves you very much. Even when she doesn't seem to recognise you, even when she seems off in her head—she loves you very much."</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>Twenty minutes later, Klara was walking through Mayfair, having decided that exercise and a stroll through muggle crowds would do her some good. She could barely remember her vague explanations as she ended her appointment with the Longbottoms, could barely remember scheduling to return in a few days.</p><p>As she let her feet guide her through the city and into Hyde Park, all Klara could think about—all she could replay, over and over in her own mind's eye—was that glorious feeling Alice had felt when she'd looked at her husband, even after she'd lost her conscious mind, even after she supposedly had no more personality, no more real thought.</p><p>Because she knew that feeling too well. She had known it at seventeen, and it returned to her now, this emotion that pushed like a tenacious spring shoot into Klara's heart every time she looked at Sirius Black.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: Not sure if anyone besides me enjoyed this deep dive into my made-up mind magic. If not--I apologize. Lmk, and I won't be so technical in the future.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Brilliance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N: Another slow chapter, though I hope it's still enjoyable. I just couldn't resist the flashback-tbh I just want to see them happy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>A/N: Another slow chapter, though I hope it's still enjoyable. I just couldn't resist the flashback-tbh I just want to see them happy.</strong>
</p><hr/><p>In the Grimmauld Place dining room, now fully composed and collected, Klara was setting out sandwiches she'd bought on her way home when someone spoke from behind her.</p><p>"You're back."</p><p>It was Sirius.</p><p>Her breath caught. <em>God damn it, </em>his <em>voice</em>. The rich sound expanded in her chest, warm and comforting and exciting, with that familiar touch of roughness that made her stomach flutter. She could never help how her body reacted when she heard him speaking. Instinctively, she smiled, before remembering the way things had to be now. She forced the smile from her face, though she could do nothing about the heat that had risen to her cheeks.</p><p>Klara looked up, hoping Sirius wouldn't notice her flush. He was leaning against the doorframe to the dining room, looking at her with what could only be described as a stiffly polite smile. Unsettling. He had never looked at her with an expression like that. The strangeness mixed turbulently with the joy and anger already warring at the fresh sight of him.</p><p>"As you see," she couldn't help reply. Another strike against the plan to remain politely distant, but really, what else was she supposed to say to such a statement? His lip turned up just a touch, but he turned his eyes to the table, his nose twitching in a most canine manner.</p><p>"Is that…?"</p><p>"Sandwiches. From Ned's."</p><p>His polite smile broke into a genuine one, his cheeks rounding boyishly despite the havoc wreaked by the years. Klara felt her chest tighten.</p><p>"Merlin, I'm surprised they're still open," he said, coming to examine the sandwiches wrapped in familiar gingham paper. That first apartment Klara had shared with Pandora Fawley had been five blocks from the sandwich shop, and their entire group of friends had been frequent patrons.</p><p>"Are you? They do make excellent sandwiches, so I'm sure business is good. This one's yours."</p><p>She handed him the sandwich, taking care that her hands were out of the way of his accidental touch. Sirius sank down into a chair and opened the wrapping expectantly. Klara couldn't help staring at the wiry muscles and tendons that shifted in his forearm as he moved his hands.</p><p>"And you remembered my favourite! You're an angel, you know that?" he said, looking at the chicken curry sandwich with the affection due an old friend. "I'd forgotten how much I love Ned's sandwiches."</p><p>Yes, Klara imagined as much, especially given how thin he was. Twelve years surrounded by those filthy beings—anyone would forget the things he enjoyed, even if he had managed to spend most of his days as a dog. Her chest tightened again, this time in a horribly sickening way.</p><p>"Eat then," she said briskly, choosing to ignore his other comment. "Where's Remus?"</p><p>It turned out that Remus had gone to buy Doxycide in preparation for Klara's cleaning plans. In her head Klara couldn't help calling him a variety of colourful names in both English and German. He was supposed to be here, in this house, ensuring that she wasn't alone with Sirius. Twelve hours in he was already shirking on his duties.</p><p>Nonetheless, she was an adult, and did not hold these sorts of petty grudges. Klara cast a warming spell over his sandwich and sat down to lunch. It was strange, sitting across the table from Sirius as they ate their sandwiches, yet also comforting, seeing him alive and almost…normal in front of her.</p><p>He looked worn, like he carried a constant weight upon his shoulders. There were lines on his face now. The deepest one, Klara noticed with a sharp pang, were between his brows—etched, no doubt, by years of scowling against the demons that plagued him.</p><p>Yet despite the leaden pain that surrounded him, she could still glimpse the Sirius she once knew. When he smiled that mischievous smile or raised an eyebrow in that teasing way, when he'd recounted Harry Potter's Quidditch abilities in enthusiastic detail the evening before, he was still so handsome it made her heart ache.</p><p>"Klara?"</p><p>He had asked her a question, and she realised with mortification that she hadn't taken in a single word.</p><p>"I beg your pardon. What was that?"</p><p>He gave her a confused look.</p><p>"I asked what patients you went to see at St. Mungo's. Uh, if it's okay for me to ask," he added quickly, likely weary from her outburst the previous night. More mortification, as she remembered the exchange and the tsunami tide of her anger. As it turned out, she had grossly overestimated her own self control when it came to dealing with Sirius Black, and Klara had spent the previous night fuming into her pillow over her weakness. Hence the forgotten Cooling Charm.</p><p>Now she tried for a smile, her cheeks heating again at the steady way his eyes were fixed on her.</p><p>"Yes, you can ask." Then, eager to change the subject, "I went to see the Longbottoms."</p><p>Mrs. Longbottom had allowed her to disclose to the Order all she knew, and so Klara gave a wide-eyed Sirius a brief account of the couple's condition.</p><p>"So, do you think you can help them?" he finally asked.</p><p>"I have to consult my old mentor at the Reinberg, but there are a few techniques I'm thinking might stir some change. I've tried them with past patients, and they've produced results I'd like to see in the Longbottoms." Klara shut her eyes, but she wasn't going to lie to either of them.</p><p>"To tell you the truth…the only reason I can help them at all is because of my training in Austria. And because of my specialty work there, and all the unique cases I've treated." She refused to look up at him, but nonetheless felt Sirius go still as the truth of the matter hung in the air between them.</p><p>If she had stayed in Britain, she would not have had the necessary training or experience to help the Longbottoms at all. And they both understood, given the choice, she would have stayed until the war ended, and then...of all the cities where she could have studied, Klara would never have gone to Vienna. Not while the ghosts of childhood visits with her Austrian mother hung about the city at every turn.</p><p>"And I assume you're…I mean, are you the only one who can do what you do?"</p><p>She flashed him a tight smile.</p><p>"You're the one who's always said I was brilliant, Sirius. Just because I had a different name and different memories doesn't mean I was a different person. But surely you knew that, when you…"</p><p>He returned the humourless smile.</p><p>"Yeah. Yeah I did. That's why I chose it."</p><p>Klara felt her throat close with the now-familiar anger, but it was laced with frustration, because really, what logic did she have to be angry with him at present? It was looking more and more like all his machinations really had been for the best. What was her indignation when compared to the sanity of two brave, worthy people? She took a shuddering breath.</p><p>"Aside from my old mentor, I'm the best Legilimens the International Board of Mind Healers has ever seen. Well, Caroline Müller is. And considering Professor Kowalski is 92 and not so precise with Charms anymore…yes, I am the only one who can do what I do."</p><p>"So…"</p><p>"So, Sirius. You can stop trying to apologise—"</p><p>"For Merlin's sake Klara, but why won't you just let me explain?" Sirius' voice cut sharp and jagged into the silent room, his hand hitting the table in frustration, but Klara didn't even feel herself flinch.</p><p>"I don't need to hear you apologise or explain," she said softly. "A fool can guess why you did what you did. You weren't sorry before, and you certainly aren't now." For a second he gaped at her, then he turned away, not contradicting her. He didn't regret it, they both knew.</p><p>"I am sorry that you're angry, Klara," he finally said, uncommonly quiet. "And I'm sorry that you'll never trust me again."</p><p>She frowned up at him. Was <em>that</em> what he thought? Instinctively she reached for his hand, the way she'd always done when reassuring.</p><p>A mistake.</p><p>Skin on skin, so very hot, and they both jerked back as if burned. Klara pursed her lips, her heart suddenly racing, and tucked her hands under her legs to keep from reaching out again. There must be none of that. Not anymore.</p><p>"Why would you say that?" she began instead, surprised she could keep her voice light. "Sirius, I trust you with my life." His head snapped up, eyes bright, lips parted in surprise. She felt her frown deepen. "That never changed." How could he think she would ever doubt him? Hadn't she said she understood his reasons?</p><p>His breath had quickened, and she could see the outline of his chest rising and falling against his thin shirt. His eyes, dark and dense and wild now, fixed into hers so intently as to almost cause pain. She did not want to look away.</p><p>Unhelpfully, foolishly, Klara wanted to reach for him again, damn logic and good sense. Her fingertips still throbbed from the brief contact with his hand, and her skin screamed for more. Instead, she ripped her gaze from his, fixing on a spot on the carpet. If she could not control her mind, at least she could control her body.</p><p>Sirius said nothing. He had something to ask her, she could tell—could feel the question burning just on the tip of his tongue—but it never came.</p><p>After what seemed like hours, Klara heard Sirius slump back into his chair. Composed once more and daring to look back at him, Klara saw with a leaden ache that the light from before had died out of his eyes. No. Better like this, she chided herself, gritting her teeth. Better that they both understood how things had to be. And she rose from the chair and left the dining room before her fragile resolve could weaken any further.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>"Are you going to tell me what you're really up to with all these extra Defence lessons?" Sirius asked. It was end of October, Seventh Year, and they had made a routine of sneaking up to the Astronomy Tower on nights James Potter had patrol. Klara rested her head in his lap as he leaned against the battlements, the crisp autumn air refreshing against her flushed skin. Sirius lazily wound a curl of her hair around his finger. His other hand traced up and down her naked arm. It tickled deliciously. </p><p>"As I've told you, I simply need the extra help," she said innocently, though she knew he didn't believe a word. He knew her well enough by now, and she could tell him this. Wanted to tell him, to share this secret.</p><p>"You might be a natural liar, love, but it's pretty obvious DADA is not where you need extra help."</p><p>She swatted half-heartedly at his hand, and felt more than saw his smirking grin in response.</p><p>"Prat. Didn't you lure me up here with promises of Transfiguration help? I must say, you're not much of a teacher."</p><p>"I'm a great teacher, actually. You're just a naughty student."</p><p>"Oh!" He'd pinched her bum. She caught his hand, face flushing. "Sirius Black!"</p><p>He raised a challenging brow.</p><p>"What?" It was his turn to play innocent. She widened her eyes in what she hoped was a menacing way, then turned them to the hand still in her captivity.</p><p>Slowly, she let her thumb massage up his palm, running her fingers along the hard tendons and flexing muscles, soaking in the warmth of his skin. She could still feel the imprints of his fingers on her back, where he had gripped her waist.</p><p>She looked up at him, eyes locking right into his, and sucked two of his fingers into her mouth.</p><p>His grunt of surprise was raw, and she let her own satisfaction gleam in her eyes. She lapped her tongue over the light callouses on his fingertips, eliciting longer, hoarser sounds. His skin was salty from their earlier exertions, and she let herself savour the tang of him for a moment before she bit down on his knuckles—just hard enough to sting.</p><p>Another grunt of surprise, and when he looked down at her again there was a dangerous glint that wasn't there before. Klara felt her belly tighten. She managed to give him a lazy half-smile, but was too aware of his body stirring again under her shoulder, too aware of her own body's flickering heat in response.</p><p>He reached to lift her to straddle him, and it was with great difficulty that she stayed unhelpfully limp against his arm.</p><p>"I thought you wanted to know why I've been taking extra DADA lessons," she said, trying to keep the breathlessness out of her voice. Sirius growled, but stilled, and for a few heartbeats she could feel his body warring with his curiosity. Eventually, curiosity won.</p><p>"Don't think you're off the hook." He said darkly. "Let's hear it then."</p><p>"Professor Lam has been helping me practise Legilimency."</p><p>He raised an eyebrow.</p><p>"You mean to say you can't read minds already?" Ah, so he had noticed how transparent he and his friends always were.</p><p>"One doesn't need to be a Legilimens to read a Gryffindor's mind," she said airly. "But in all seriousness, you know perfectly well I'm not a natural Legilimens."</p><p>"And why's she teaching you specifically?" he frowned. All the Gryffindors seemed to think Professor Lam was somehow involved in the Dark Arts, even though, in Klara's opinion, she was the best DADA professor they'd ever had.</p><p>"I asked her and she was happy to help," she shrugged. "I found a couple books in the Restricted Section in September, and—" she bit her lip, trying to contain her excitement just talking about the subject.</p><p>"Oh, Sirius, it's the most fascinating magic. I tried out some of the theory on Pandora and Louise, and actually managed to get into Louise's thoughts a few times, but the books both ended by saying I needed to find a real live teacher. So. I thought I'd ask Lam, and low and behold. Extra lessons."</p><p>His eyes widened, then narrowed.</p><p>"Hmm. Klara, is this even legal?"</p><p>"Um, I don't think so, but when have you ever cared about legalities?" He shot her a conceding grin.</p><p>"Never, naturally." A low chuckle. "So don't worry. I'll keep your secret."</p><p>"I should hope so. I'll know if you intend not to, and you might find yourself in an undesirable condition."</p><p>"Oh?" Sirius gave her a taunting look. "But joke's on you, love. My family taught me loads of rubbish, but they did manage to teach me Occulmency too."</p><p>"Ah, I see," said Klara, settling into his lap and stretching out luxuriously. "You think you can shut me out, do you? Unfortunately, the books are very detailed about how to work around Occulmency. We'll see how long you hold out when I try it on you."</p><p>Sirius was looking down at her very intently now, the slow, awed smile spreading across his face stirring a sweet flutter in her stomach.</p><p>"You really are brilliant, aren't you?"</p><p>"I mean, I am, but I'd still like to hear why you think so."</p><p>He laughed. "Growing up, my uncle Cygnus tried to teach Legilimency to every one of us cousins. He was prouder of his Legilimency than he was of his three daughters combined, I imagine, and he was very disappointed none of us could pick it up." Sirius' eyes gleamed, and he shook his head, looking a little rueful.</p><p>"And here you are, learning even the hard stuff from a book. Brilliant."</p><p>"Well," mused Klara, trying to hide her glow at his praise. "Everything worth learning can be learned from a book somewhere."</p><p>"Right. Well, you're wrong, but I'm not going to start an argument about books with a Ravenclaw."</p><p>Klara only smiled and shrugged. She'd had enough talking. Every breath Sirius took pressed the hard lines of his body into hers, and it was becoming difficult to breathe.</p><p>She propped herself up against his chest, letting her hand accidentally brush along his firm stomach and drop into his lap between them. A sharp intake of breath, and she felt the tightness in her belly stir again, moving into liquid heat between her legs.</p><p>"Now then," she murmured, tracing the shadows moving in his throat as he swallowed. His skin was so soft there, so fine, like velvet under her fingers. "I remember you saying you weren't letting me off the hook."</p><p>"I haven't forgotten," he said into her ear. It tickled, hot and low, and Klara squirmed. "I still need to get you back for biting me."</p><p>"Cheek. I only bit you because you pinched me."</p><p>"Payback for this, you mean?' He did it again, and she felt heat flood her face.</p><p>"Sirius!"</p><p>"Tsk tsk, love, keep your voice down. We haven't even gotten started."</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>Sirius knew better than most the extent of Klara's talent at Charms. He'd also seen enough of her post-Hogwarts apartment to know just much time and energy she was willing to expend for a pristine home. However, he could not help harbouring great doubt that she could clear the mysterious sticking fungus from the kitchens.</p><p>He and Remus had made another valiant attempt that morning, even locating a tattered cleaning guide in the library. Again, they could boast of barely a foot of progress, though they had only been disturbed once by Kingsley passing through. When Sirius relayed this position as they waited for Remus to finish his lunch, Klara only raised a dark brow at him.</p><p>"I'm going to find a way or die trying."</p><p>Now, as Klara muttered her eighth spell at the same area of slimy green, Sirius was beginning to worry that they were all going to die trying to wage war against this demonic growth. According to Klara, it was called a name that sounded like "mumbling," and supposedly came from the Red Sea region. Sirius wouldn't have been surprised if Kreacher had taken some fungus from between his toes and multiplied it to cover the kitchens.</p><p>Kreacher had slinked upstairs after making the biscuits the previous day, and Sirius hadn't needed to call him, thank the Gods. Now, though, he wondered if he should summon him and try eliciting his help with the mould again, even if the elf had been adamant that he didn't know how to get rid of it.</p><p>Then again, Klara had yet to lay eyes on the fiend. Perhaps Sirius should let her keep her peaceful existence for as long as he could. When they moved to the upstairs rooms Kreacher would inevitably rear his wrinkly head. Just thinking about the things he'd have to say about muggle-born Klara…Sirius cringed.</p><p>A hum of triumph cut through Klara's murmurings. Sirius turned sharply to where she stood. She was grinning a rare wide grin at the two of them, a patch of char at her feet. Her mass of curly hair was braided around her head and held back with a red scarf. In that moment she looked so young and radiant Sirius felt his chest warm just looking at her.</p><p>"I've got it," she announced unnecessarily, and pointed her wand to another cluster of green. "<em>Torreo</em>."</p><p>An orange spell one normally used to toast bread shot from her wand. In an instant, the patch of green began to brown and shrivel, but Klara kept her wand steady, casting the spell longer much than Sirius had ever seen it used. After some moments, the new patch had turned the same blackened colour.</p><p>"Have you literally just…incinerated it…?" came the mild voice that Remus usually slipped into when overwhelmed. Sirius looked over to see him blinking at Klara with a mix of confusion and alarm.</p><p>Klara smiled her quiet smile at him.</p><p>"Burnt to a crisp, as they say, but the charm should be gentle enough for the furniture. And now—" she cast a regular Siphoning Charm, sucking away charred dust and revealing the red tiled floor. Sirius and Remus stared at the clean spot that would have taken the two of them a couple hours at least, their jaws slack.</p><p>"Right then, if you'd like, I can roast while the two of you siphon," she said, already approaching the next area of green with a dangerous gleam in her eye. Remus turned, giving Sirius a meaningful raise of the eyebrows, as if to ask how this woman, who seemed so eager to incinerate things with a <em>toasting</em> charm, hadn't yet burned Sirius to a crisp. Sirius just shrugged, avoiding Remus' gaze.</p><p>He had never understood Klara completely, and she was even more of a puzzle now—her temper unpredictable, her anger obviously still raging, but sometimes Sirius would catch glimpses of other emotions he didn't have the chance to place.</p><p>Yet the worst thing about the current state of affairs was that her deliberate politeness made it clear she had no intention of continuing whatever it was that once existed between them, and Sirius, despite claiming this was the outcome he'd expected, thought maybe he'd prefer it if she <em>did</em> want to burn him to a crisp.</p><p>What a greedy bastard he was. Just yesterday he'd been telling himself he was satisfied so long as she spoke to him, and already now he wanted more. He wanted her to smile at him, really smile, or grip his hand in that warm way she always did, though maybe it was smart that they didn't touch, given the little shock at lunch. His hand still buzzed.</p><p>It took the three of them an hour to char and siphon away the green fungus. Afterwards, a buoyant Klara cast a series of spells gleaned from her doorstop of a German housekeeping book while Remus made tea on the magically scrubbed stove.</p><p>The long table and chairs seemed sturdier, the wood smoother, and the metal surfaces of the hardware gleamed as if new. He and Remus packed up the old pots, pans and chipped dishes into rubbish sacks, while Klara unpacked cookware and utensils from her clipper bag, arranging them alongside the china sets she deemed still usable. (She had agreed that some of the plates Sirius had isolated <em>were</em> rather nice.)</p><p>Klara organised her groceries with a final flick of her wand, then sat back with the tea Remus handed her, eyes crinkling. Looking around to survey to work they'd done, the kitchen suddenly seemed warm and bright and pleasant. Sirius was certain he'd never seen it so welcoming in his life. His mood lifting like a balloon full of hot air, Sirius looked over at Klara's giant book and couldn't help himself.</p><p>"You know, that was very Ravenclaw of you," he said, pointing to the book with his chin. "But it probably would have served more purpose if you'd brought it out <em>before</em> you tried fifteen scrubbing charms." He heard Remus choke slightly on his tea, but Sirius always felt as if one was not truly living if one did not constantly try to provoke irritation from Klara Montagu.</p><p>Klara only gave him a sideways look and drained her teacup.</p><p>"Certainly not," she said in that dignified voice that always reminded Sirius of McGonagall, (though he liked to keep his tongue and so had never told her this outright.) "This is only a housekeeping book, not a field guide to Middle Eastern seaweed." More coughs from Remus. "Now then, if you gentlemen are done with your tea break?"</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>They proceeded upstairs, Klara taking on the distinct air of a wartime general as they shuffled into the dining room.</p><p>She taught Sirius and Remus versions of dusting, scrubbing and restoration spells that she'd modified to cover large areas at once--clever, <em>brilliant </em>woman. They set to work once more. Though it seemed Klara was far more efficient than he and Remus put together, soon the rugs were plump, the draperies plush, and the floorboards free from cracks and holes.</p><p>At Klara's behest, (and after some teasing about her abysmal Transfiguration abilities), Sirius conjured a wrought iron cage, and she and Remus took turns targeting the Shropshire Pixies with Freezing Charms while Sirius caught them and popped them inside.</p><p>There were monster mutant spiders that none of them had been prepared for, lurking in the cabinet housing the official Black family china. After Remus hastily immobilised them, Klara, who had scrambled to sit atop the dining table, afforded them the same treatment she had given to the kitchen fungus, her face stiff with distaste.</p><p>Soon, the room looked as if someone had exploded a time turner inside and blasted it twenty years into the past, but Sirius could feel his good humour deflating by the minute. He looked around nervously now, suddenly engulfed by the dark wood and Slytherin green fabric dotted with silver serpent detailing. His extended family sneered down at him from the fireplace, Bellatrix and Uncle Cygnus seeming to glare most sharply, and Sirius shuddered, trying not to remember the family dinners that has dragged and gnawed. Unlike the kitchens, this room in its original state bore the distinct characteristics of the Black family to its bone, and Sirius <em>hated </em>it.</p><p>Restless disgust bubbled in his chest, not helped by the buzzing of the pixies that had crept up again as Klara's Silencing Charm wore off. Turning his head as he siphoned off the last traces of dust from the mantelpiece, he found Klara studying him with an unreadable consideration. He raised an eyebrow, and she turned to survey the room.</p><p>"Sirius, would you mind terribly if I did some redecorating?" She walked around the table, casting another offhanded Silencing Charm at the Pixi cage. Blissful silence.</p><p>"Mind? Be my guest. I'm starting to wish we hadn't cleaned the room at all now. It's much worse when everything looks the way it did when my whole family was around."</p><p>"We can start with those photographs then," she said, pointing at the photos of his parents and cousins, and after a pause of consideration, Sirius grinned. He'd gotten so used to seeing them that he'd forgotten they weren't stuck to the walls like her mother's portrait. Klara smiled and popped out the photos, tossing them into the rubbish bag with the china. Though he was sure he imagined it, Sirius thought the dining room felt just a touch less oppressive.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Reconciliation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As Sirius had expected, the reprieve from Kreacher did not last.</p><p>The following morning, after feeding Buckbeak, he, Remus and Klara began work on the first floor drawing room, the three having managed to clean, scrub, and debug the entire ground floor the day before.</p><p>Tonks arrived early, coming in after a night shift guarding Privet Drive. She brightened all their mornings by setting off Walburga's portrait. Sirius' sweet mother managed to insult all four of them—including Klara, for her "unkempt hair"—before he could pull the curtains over her again.</p><p>Tonks, for her part, had apologised profusely, then gaped at the newly revived dining room in rare silence, inhaled three of the fried apple rings Klara made for breakfast, and volunteered to help them clean despite her lack of sleep.</p><p>Sirius could tell Klara liked Tonks right away. Tonks was everything she was not—boisterous, extroverted, familiar upon first meeting and entirely ungraceful. Sirius knew from watching Klara with her school friends that this was the sort of presence Klara seemed to crave around her. It hardly mattered that she was never so unreserved herself.</p><p>In the drawing room, Tonks made the same mistake with the curtains that Klara had her first afternoon, opening them on instinct upon entering. Instantaneously, she was bitten by a Doxie that came shooting out from under the drapery.</p><p>As Remus poured antidote down Tonks' throat and tended the bite, Klara showed Sirius how to cast a sort of enveloping charm that covered the entire window areas, enveloping them in shiny bubble structures. She then charmed the Doxycide to mist themselves inside.</p><p>"This is a muggle technique called tent fumigation," Klara had explained, watching with a satisfied nod as unconscious Doxies began dropping through the yellow-tinted gas. "We'll let them stew for a few hours."</p><p>When Tonks had been revived, (despite Klara's admonitions for her to rest), they moved on to the various suspicious objects in the glass-fronted cabinets against the walls. Tonks managed to drop a box of Wartcap powder when it, too, tried to bite her, sending up a cloud of powder that turned all their faces brown and crusty.</p><p>For a moment, everyone froze. Then all four collapsed into hysterical laughter, waving their wands to fix one another's skin but missing horribly as they looked around at each other. Even Klara couldn't help descending into bouts of giggling. Sirius revelled in the bubbling, warm sound, not minding at all that his face resembled the back of a toad.</p><p>Most things they threw into rubbish sacks—a pair of spider-like tweezers, a heavy old locket, a crystal bottle filled with dark blood—though Sirius hadn't yet determined how they were to dispose of them.</p><p>There was an intricate tree statue made from bone and dried sinew, (creature origins unknown), and a set of eerie nesting sarcophagus dolls that were constantly hot to the touch. Who knew what kind of dark magic might explode out of them? Most of the curios had been collected by his grandfather, and Sirius doubted even his father had known the function and origins of most.</p><p>Either way, he was happy to get rid of it all. Klara, however, seemed significantly less eager to simply dump everything in the rubbish. A few times, Sirius caught her studying an object that did something interesting and harmless. Seeing her fascination, he suggested she could keep a sleep-lulling music box and a large glass jar with a hurricane swirling inside if she liked.</p><p>She blushed a rare pink colour, but did not refuse. She also gently but firmly insisted that Sirius keep the ring with his family seal on it. He was the head of the family after all, she reasoned, and might need it for things like official documents and identification. He was about to protest, but one look at the way she had disappeared into her head as she stared at the crest, and Sirius decided to hold his tongue.</p><p>She'd told him the previous day that her family estate had long since been inherited by a distant cousin. How could she not wonder now what that cousin had done to her parents' personal belongings?</p><p>He thought he ought to say something, to draw her out of the abyss of imaginings, but did not know what he could possibly say. If he hadn't forced her abroad, she might have been able to sort through her family's things and bring about a modicum of closure—fact about which Sirius didn't fancy reminding her.</p><p>Like the dining room downstairs, the drawing room did not improve for Sirius upon its cleaning. Klara had by default dusted and scrubbed the walls, and this included the tapestry of his extended family tree. Before they headed downstairs for lunch, the four of them had tried every severing spell they knew, to no avail. The bleeding tapestry simply would not budge.</p><p>"Looks like someone used a Permanent Sticking Charm on this too," mused Remus, studying a frayed edge with interest. Klara and Tonks had both given up the tapestry's removal as a bad job. They were staring fixedly at the char marks, Klara at where Sirius should have been, and Tonks at Andromeda's little black spot.</p><p>"Lucky us," muttered Sirius, his mood rapidly wilting the longer he looked at the tapestry. He heard in his head the list of ancestors he'd been required to memorise and list off whenever his father checked his studies; remembered with cutting clarity the spring night when he'd run out into a storm, dodging his father's spells, his ears filled with his mother's screeching.</p><p>Not knowing how else to get away, he'd Disapparated under the pelting rain even though he'd never done it successfully before. It was a miracle he'd ended up on the Potters' doorstep in one piece.</p><p>"I'll see what I can do about the ghastly thing when I redecorate," came Klara's voice, pulling Sirius out of his trance. He looked over to see that she'd turned her studying gaze on him. Embarrassingly, he felt hot blood rush to his face. Klara gave him a small smile, which Sirius assumed was meant to reassure him, then ushered them all downstairs for lunch before Sirius could fall back into another memory.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>Somehow, Klara had been baking bread and simmering something on the stove all morning as they'd cleaned. Now she served them a garden salad she'd seemingly manifested with two waves of her wand, the fluffiest rolls Sirius had ever eaten, and a pasta dish of chicken braised with tomatoes, bell peppers, and various herbs. The pasta was perfectly chewy, the chicken juicy and tender with just a hint of bite. Sirius worked through two helpings before he even realised. Since Klara's reappearance, Sirius had possibly eaten more than he had in the previous three weeks combined, and he wasn't quite sure if it was her presence or her cooking that awoke the capacity for hunger in him once more.</p><p>They leaned back in their chairs an hour later, revelling in that lazy contentment that followed a satisfying meal.</p><p>Tonks reluctantly rose from the table. She was careful not to topple the chair, but her wand slipped from her robes and clattered to the floor.</p><p>"I've got to go to work," she sighed, crouching under the table now. "Kingsley can't cover for me all day, and I've got a report to finish. Aha!" She picked up her wand with a triumphant flourish, and if Remus hadn't scooted the entire table back just in time, would have hit her head on the table's edge.</p><p>"Anyway, thanks for feeding me, Klara," she said, giving them all a sheepish shrug as she made her way to the stairs. Klara stood too, following her.</p><p>"I'll see you out," she said. The complete nonchalance of her voice and the casual look on her face set off all the alarms in Sirius' head. He snapped his gaze to her. What was she playing at? Tonks didn't need to be "seen out." He gave her a questioning look, which she completely ignored.</p><p>"You don't need to see me out," Tonks protested, a little flustered. Klara just smiled, picked up the parcel of her apple rings she'd packed for Kingsley and Mad-Eye, and motioned her upstairs. Sirius watched her go. His curiosity gnawed, but he was too comfortable in his chair to get up and follow. As they disappeared through the door at the top of the stairs, Sirius turned his questioning gaze to Remus, who only shrugged.</p><p>"Don't look at me. You're the one who knows her best," he said, though Sirius was sure he saw Remus' face take on some sort of understanding. Sirius narrowed his eyes. Remus was quick to change the subject.</p><p>"I knew Klara was good at this sort of household work," he said, "but I had no idea she'd speed through the house so quickly. And cook for us as well? I'm beginning to feel like we're taking advantage of her."</p><p>Sirius barked a laugh. People did not take advantage of Klara Montagu. For the most part, she did as she liked, and what she liked most was keeping her standards of comfort sky high. </p><p>"Nah, we're not taking advantage," said Sirius. "You know what her flat looked like before…" He waved his hand, indicating the years right after Hogwarts.</p><p>"She won't live somewhere she considers substandard, and she's the pickiest eater. She'd be cleaning and cooking even if she lived alone, so just be grateful we're reaping the benefits of living with her."</p><p>Remus looked thoughtful, nodding slowly.</p><p>"I'd certainly say you're benefitting from her being around, even after barely two days."</p><p>"Well, of course I am," Sirius straightened, trying for a casual tone. "You're good company, Moony, but, well, Klara is Klara." He shrugged. The ruth of his words settled in only after he'd spoken them.</p><p>The shock and subsequent ecstatic realisation that Klara was back and constantly around was unlikely to wear off anytime soon. Even their arguments and her deliberate avoidance of any physical contact couldn't dampen the little jolt of joy Sirius felt every time he remembered her presence. There was no one in the world like this woman. He had known it back then, and he knew it now. Lucky him, that she would stay for the time being.</p><p>Choosing not to consider that he'd probably never have back whatever it was that existed between them, Sirius shrugged again, stretching his feet on the table in a deliberately nonchalant way.</p><p>"Anyway, at the rate we're going, there won't be any house left to clean when the Weasleys move in."</p><p>"You know they're coming to stay for their children's safety, not to help us clean," Remus reminded him.</p><p>"Yeah, but even Dumbledore implied Molly Weasley would head up the cleaning of this place. I wonder what she'll do all day now."</p><p>"Padfoot, really, Molly Weasley is just as capable at other—"</p><p>"Oh, I know, I know, she could probably hex me into next week if she really wanted. Actually, I'm surprised she hasn't already, with all the dirty looks she gives me."</p><p>Remus smirked.</p><p>"That's only because she strongly disapproves of—"</p><p>A short, sharp scream pierced the air around them. At once they both froze, snatching up their wands. But before panic could set in, Sirius, who's spent enough time around Klara to recognize every offensive word in the German language, heard a muffled yet unmistakable string of German curses. This could only mean Klara had encountered something truly unsavoury upstairs.</p><p>Remus, who had deduced the same, turned to Sirius.</p><p>"Do you think she's encountered Kreacher?" he asked mildly. Sirius grimaced.</p><p>"Probably."</p><p>In the dining room, Klara was leaning against the doorframe, a hand on her chest the only indication that she'd been quite startled. She was staring, eyes round, at a mumbling Kreacher as if she'd never seen a house elf before. To be fair, Kreacher was not exactly the typical specimen. He looked as if his skin had once been stretched over something twice his size, and was filthy in a grimy sort of way that Klara would not appreciate, especially right after eating.</p><p>On the table, one of the sacks of drawing room objects had been overturned near Klara's open clipper bag, and Kreacher was attempting to fit everything back into the sack. He looked up as Sirius and Remus entered, then looked pointedly back down if three adult humans weren't standing in the doorway.</p><p>"…no, Kreacher won't let Master throw out my mistress' prized possessions, oh no, Kreacher will save them, yes, and he won't let Master and his unnatural friend…"</p><p>"I'm going to assume this is Kreacher," Klara said faintly.</p><p>"Wonderfully friendly, isn't he?" She gave him a weak smile.</p><p>"…oh, my poor mistress, if she could see the scum in her house now, the filthy werewolf, and now this new crony, Kreacher doesn't know who she is, but if Master brought her she can't be anything good…oh my poor mistress, what would she say about the filth Master invites to this house…"</p><p>Sirius' blood was starting to boil. How dare the fiend refer to Remus—</p><p>"I thought I heard noises coming from in here after I'd seen Tonks out," said Klara, pulling Sirius out of his murderous haze. "When I walked in he was trying to lug that sack off the table. Scared the living daylights out of me, but I think I scared him too. He dropped the bag when he saw me."</p><p>"Yeah, well, don't feel too sorry for him," muttered Sirius, wrinkling his nose. "I knew he'd show up trying to hoard stuff when we started cleaning. I had to physically restrain him from tearing my mother's curtain down. Kreacher!"</p><p>At his name, the elf gave an exaggerated jolt off surprise, then bowed so low his ears flopped against the edge of the table.</p><p>"Master, Kreacher did not see—"</p><p>"Yeah, alright, alright," said Sirius, waving his hand and feeling his annoyance rise. "Stand up straight. What are you up to with that bag?"</p><p>"Kreacher is…Kreacher is cleaning. Master ordered Kreacher to help clean."</p><p>Sirius narrowed his eyes. Bullocks. This elf was going to be the death of him.</p><p>"I don't know who you think you're fooling. I order you not to touch any of the things in those bags. Put down the one you're holding and back away, Kreacher."</p><p>Thankfully, Kreacher did not dare disobey a direct order, though he did fit in a deathly glare at Sirius before reluctantly letting go of the bag. He looked longingly at the objects scattered on the table. Sirius wanted to gag.</p><p>"I'll introduce you, shall I?"</p><p>He heard Klara sigh.</p><p>"I suppose you must."</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>The next morning Klara awoke to an increasingly insistent tapping on her window. Bleary eyed, she stumbled to the window and popped open the latch. Franz, her great horned owl, soared in very close to her head, hooting his annoyance. He made a loop around the magically enlarged bedroom Klara had cleaned out and claimed yesterday, his wings stirring a breeze so strong she could barely open her eyes. Finally, he landed soundlessly on her coverlet and looked up at her, foot extended.</p><p>"Finally waited her out, did you?" she asked, coming to untie the little rolled noted attached to his foot. "I hope she fed you." Franz hooted again. Klara took his failure to peck impatiently at her hand as evidence that yes, Louise had been feeding him these past three days, and feeding him well.</p><p>She couldn't help a little grin as she unfurled the note that simply read, "<em>Fine. Come if you must." </em>with an address listed below.</p><p>So very typical of Louise. She may be beyond angry with Klara, but naturally she hadn't neglected to feed Franz in the three days she took to fume over Klara's letter and decide whether or not to reply. And, just as naturally, she had replied.</p><p>When Klara had written to one of her best friends from Hogwarts the morning before her initial meeting with Dumbledore, she had known precisely that Louise would scream and rage at Klara for making her believe she was dead these past fifteen years; known she'd probably want to toss Klara's letter in the fire and ignore her completely.</p><p>She'd also known that, so long as Franz circled the house every few hours after delivering the note, eventually Louise would relent and invite her to visit. When they had been teenagers, Louise's anger usually lasted all of an hour and ended with her hurling a hairbrush at Klara's head or blasting all of Pandora's things from her trunk. Three days was quite the record. Then again, Klara had never done anything so despicable aa making Louise believe her dead, a crime all the more loathsome given that Pandora…But Klara tried not to dwell on the fact that their trio was now down to two.</p><p>No, this morning was too perfect for grieving. Klara usually liked to sleep until nine, but she didn't mind cutting her sleep a few hours short today. They'd managed to scourge clean most bathrooms last night, and Klara had enjoyed a heavenly, lavender scented bubble bath that led to a sweetly deep night's rest. Now, even at six in the morning, she felt she could face anything, even a fire-breathing Louise Bones.</p><p>Seeing that Franz did not need rest of any sort, (he soon began spritely hopping about her room), Klara tied the letter she had written to her mentor to his foot, along with vials of mental notes from her session with the Longbottoms, then sent her owl off to Vienna.</p><p>She hummed to herself as she made her way to the kitchen, her fingers itching to touch a piano, and almost fell off the stairs at the sight of Sirius sitting at the table. He was sipping from a steaming cup and reading a letter, rocking onto the hind legs of his chair. He had shaved and cut off some of his hair, and looked somehow fresher and younger than she'd seen him in the past couple of days. Her chest squeezed pleasantly.</p><p>Even as she scolded herself for being surprised at all—he <em>lives</em> here, you daft cow—she could hear the amazement in the question that tumbled out before she could stop herself.</p><p>"What are you doing up at this hour?" Like her, like Remus, Sirius was no morning person. Klara used to hear him wonder aloud if there was something medically wrong with James, who preferred, in his own words, to "rise with the sun" like some new-age television guru. And now here Sirius was, dressed and functional before six.</p><p>At once, Klara regretted having said anything at all. Sirius, who had glanced up with a grin as she'd come through the kitchen door, now looked stricken. The smile slid from his face, and a dullness seemed to pass over his eyes. In the next instant, she realised just why he had been up so early—the same reason she'd woken, trembling and drenched in cold sweat that first morning.</p><p>Twelve years of living with Dementors…how could he be exempt from nightmares? Oh Sirius. What scars those years must have left on his psyche. Just thinking about how he must have suffered—and for what?—made her blood burn and her stomach darken with pain.</p><p>Klara sank her teeth into her lip, wondering if this was the right time to ask him about Dementor aftereffects. Sirius, seeming to sense her deliberation, pasted a stiff smile back on his face, Levitated a pot of coffee and an empty mug her way, and lied to change the subject.</p><p>"Oh, just reading a letter from Harry," he said, and Klara was forced to put the subject to rest for now. She returned his smile, then slipped into the pantry to gather ingredients for breakfast rolls and an apology pastry she was offering to Louise.</p><p>"It's wonderful he writes to you so often. What does he say?"</p><p>"Oh, just bits of this and that, what he gets up do during the day now that he's on holiday. He doesn't complain much, but his aunt and uncle are real knobheads, and his cousin sounds pretty nasty. He's pretty frustrated he can't come here, and eve more that I can't tell him anything about Voldemort."</p><p>"Poor boy," frowned Klara, setting knives to chop up summer apples and dumping dry ingredients into a mixing bowl. "Honestly, I don't know why Dumbledore thought Petunia Dursley would be anything but beastly to Lily's son. I met her once. Did I tell you? On the platform at King's Cross our Fifth Year. I said hello to Lily and I don't think any girl's ever scowled at me that hard."</p><p>Sirius gave her a weak smile.</p><p>"Yeah, that sounds like good old Petunia. James told me Lily cried for a whole evening when she refused to come to their wedding."</p><p>He sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands before rising to help crack eggs into the mixing bowl. Sirius had explained to her that first night why Harry needed to stay with his aunt for his protection, as well as Dumbledore's warnings about the possible connection between Harry's mind and Voldemort's.</p><p>It was perfectly practical, of course, what Dumbledore was doing, though in Klara's unsolicited professional opinion, keeping a boy of fifteen isolated from his friends and all news of anything he cared about was not exactly healthy or productive. Especially, in this instance, when said boy had recently been assaulted by his parents' killer and witnessed said killer murder a friend. Nor did being unable to help his godson do any favors for Sirius' depressive state.</p><p>Still, Sirius had not mentioned any outright objections to her, despite his general displeasure at the situation. It wasn't really Klara's place to say anything.</p><p>Instead, she plucked the bag of salt he was about to empty into the bowl out of his hands and gave him a long-suffering look. She realised her mistake at once.</p><p>She had come close enough to catch a hint of Sirius' woodsy shaving soap, and Klara had to force down the sudden urge to press into his body heat and luxuriate in the smell of him.</p><p>"You're no help, as usual," she said, horrified at how faint her voice was. Reluctantly stepping back, she motioned to the table. "This is salt, not sugar. Sit back down and drink your coffee.'</p><p>Sirius, not noticing her temporary daze, gave her a cheeky flash of teeth and returned to his letter. Klara could not help the idiotic grin that spread over her face as she turned away. There was a comfortable silence for some moments, before he burst out into a barking laugh, then promptly choked on his coffee.</p><p>"Really, Sirius," Klara shot a glance heavenward, then cast an airway protection charm she recalled from her emergency ward days. "What on earth?"</p><p>"Listen to this," said Sirius, snickering between coughs. He read from the letter. "<em>I nearly forgot to tell you. Do you remember that Skeeter woman who wrote all the rubbish about me last year? It turns out, she's an unregistered Animagus—a big fat beetle! I'm sure you're very shocked and horrified at her breaking the law this way. Hermione figured her out at the end of last year, and caught her in a jar for a few weeks. She's let her go now, but I think that's that problem solved. Hermione's threatened to tell the Ministry if Skeeter writes any more nasty stories about any of us."</em></p><p>At the line that Sirius should be shocked and horrified, Klara, too, had chocked, nearly dropping the jars of jam she retrieved from the fridge. Then she was laughing—wheezing really—because of course Lily Potter's son was cheeky and sardonic, especially in dealing with Sirius Black.</p><p>"Oh my God, what a gem," Klara managed to gasp.</p><p>"Yeah," said Sirius, dabbing at the corners of his eyes. "Merlin's beard, '<em>I'm sure you're very shocked and horrified. </em>Lily would be so proud.<em>"</em></p><p>"And his friend Hermione. Sounds rather brilliant, though a little scary."</p><p>"Oh, I've met her," he said, "and she is exceedingly bright and terrifying for a teenager. A little like you were, but I think she's actually got respect for authority."</p><p>"Hmm," Klara narrowed her eyes at him before turning to pull the Kaiser rolls from the oven. "I can't decide if that was a compliment."</p><p>"Ah, come on, Klara, I only ever have nice things to say about you," said Sirius. He shot her another grin, took a long, satisfied breath of the creamy bread aroma that now swirled around the kitchen, and reached for a steaming roll.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>Klara Apparated to the Cornwall seaside holding possibly the most beautiful apple strudel she'd ever made, still warm in her hand. Glancing again at Louise's address, she walked along the winding country roads until she came upon the Georgian stone house perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. She had never been here before. When she'd last seen Louise, she had just married Oscar Galen, and Klara and Pandora had helped the new couple move into a terraced house in London.</p><p>Bunches of purple and pink flowers flanked the windows here. The path leading to the front door was lined with rocks painted with vibrant patterns of flowers and sea plants. Klara couldn't help the smile that spread over her face and settled right into her chest. Louise would always be Louise, creating art in everything that surrounded her. How Klara had missed her. She pulled the doorbell.</p><p>From inside came a puttering of footsteps down stairs, then…nothing. She waited. No movement. Finally, Klara fought to keep the amusement from her voice as she called through the front door,</p><p>"Oh Louise, do open up. You did send me your address, and I know you're standing right there."</p><p>Silence.</p><p>"I made you an entire strudel."</p><p>The door was yanked open to reveal a very small witch in a paint-smattered smock. Her sand-brown hair piled on top of her head, held with a paintbrush. Her thick brows were drawn down in a scowl, her hazel eyes glittered, and her wand was pointed directly at Klara's nose.</p><p>"You. Abominable. BITCH!"</p><p>Purple light shot from the wand. Klara managed to jump out of the way just fast enough to avoid what looked like a Tentaclifors Jinx.</p><p>"You DISAPPEAR, make us all think you were burnt to CINDERS, then write me a letter after FIFTEEN FUCKING YEARS? Expecting me to just invite you inside like NOTHING BLOODY HAPPENED? Do you have any BLEEDING idea how much Pandora and I CRIED for you, DO you? KLARA MONTAGU STOP RUNNING AWAY FROM ME!"</p><p>Louise was chasing her around the front garden now, her hexes becoming nastier but wilder with each variation. They were missing Klara so completely she didn't even feel the need to draw her own wand. However, knowing Louise, this would only end one way. Klara managed to slip the strudel onto the front step, then allowed the next hex to hit her right in the face.</p><p>At once, Louise froze, her eyes huge. Klara felt the sharp ache as her teeth went soft, then began to swell like sponges in her mouth.</p><p>"I know you're angry Louise" Klara said very fast, her speech already coming out muffled, "but if you just undo this spell and le' me eshplain I promish…"</p><p>"Oh, mother of Merlin, why didn't you duck?" cried Louise, bounding towards her and muttering the counter-jinx. At once her teeth stopped growing and began to shrink. Well, that was the violent episode over with then, thought Klara, rubbing her throbbing jaw. It wasn't the worst hex of the bunch, all things considered.</p><p>"Come in, come in. You've got a whole lot of explaining to do, but I suppose I can listen. Come in," Louise was saying. She ushered Klara into her house, sweeping up the strudel as she shut the front door behind them.</p><p>Louise led Klara to the breakfast nook in her vividly patterned kitchen. Geometric tiles in vibrant blues, greens and yellows covered the walls, and spindle-shaped Turkish lamps hung from the ceilings.</p><p>They settled into velvety cushions below a stained-glass window. The scene above them depicted a raging storm above sprouting greenery, the light spilling through the windows making the panes swirl like colored mist.</p><p>"It's supposed to represent life," Louise explained absently, setting spiced tea down on the table. "Rather soppy metaphor for my style, I know, but I had a fun time with the colours. Oscar's at work, by the way, apparently he's got these patients who've stuck their feet together, but he did tell me not to hex you too badly. The tea should help with the tooth ache. Now then." She turned the full force of her green stare on Klara. "Explain yourself."</p><p>And so, Klara explained to a gawking Louise the events that led to her disappearance fifteen years ago. She was careful not to elaborate on details of her weeks in Nott's captivity, but a shrewd understanding seemed to flash in Louise's face. This, however, was immediately overtaken with an explosion of indignation as Klara detailed Sirius' memory charm, her move to Austria, the truth about Sirius and the Potters and finally, Nott's most recent attack in her Vienna home.</p><p>Silence followed. Louise rose from the table and came back with two ice-filled glasses and a bottle of what Klara recognised as arak, which she opened to release the pungent scent of liquorice. She poured the drink over the ice, the liquor turning milky upon contact, and handed Klara a glass.</p><p>"<em>Santé, </em>Klara," she choked out, her voice heavy with irony, her hazel eyes glittering. "And you're right. I'm not angry with you anymore." Louise downed her entire glass in one gulp, then pulled Klara into a breathless hug.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>Klara had liked Louise Bones the moment she met her in their Ravenclaw dormitory. The First Years had been instructed to unpack their trunks and get ready for bed. Klara, whose eyelids had been dropping closed after a day of entirely new experiences, was jolted wide awake as she watched Louise pull an entire bookshelf's worth of books from her trunk, followed by three boxes of paints, then a whole easel.</p><p>"You don't mind, do you?" she asked, looking around innocently at the nine other First Year girls. "I'll keep everything clustered around my bed, I promise. I just really need to paint stuff, all the time." Pandora Fawley, blonde, ethereal, and always aware of the invisible around her, had taken one look at the bright, whimsical paintings Louise unpacked from her trunk and pronounced them nothing but good energy, then proceeded to hang them up between the ancient tapestries lining their dormitory walls.</p><p>Klara was not sure how it happened. That first weekend, she found herself sitting below one of the yellowing trees in the Hogwarts courtyard, Louise braiding autumn pansies into her mass of curls while Pandora sat cross-legged in front of her cauldron, mixing together petals for a potion that was supposed to turn their all their eyelashes baby blue.</p><p>Reserved, bookish and introverted, even at eleven, Klara had spent her whole life to that point feeling like a sore thumb in her family and her entire world. It was like a wall was constantly erected between herself and all the other children her age. She'd expected more of the same at Hogwarts—had resigned herself to it—but Pandora had announced the first evening that she, Klara, and Louise had a "karmic resonance" with one another or something equally mystical. By the end of first term Klara felt as if she'd known her new friends all her life.</p><p>Mrs. Bones had made a habit of inviting Klara to their home at the start of each summer. In 1980, things were no different. So it was that on a balmy June night, Klara lounged in the Bones' garden with Louise, her parents, and her brothers and sisters-in-law, drinking arak and eating from little plates of artichoke, pita and grape leaves stuffed with rice. Allan Bones rubbed his pregnant wife's feet. Edgar's three children ran around them, playing with the sparkly toy unicorns Klara had charmed to fly.</p><p>Edgar and Mr. Bones were deep in a wildly uneven game of chess, and both his wife and Klara kept giving him nonsensical advice, giggling behind his back.</p><p>Louise was trying every tactic she knew to convince her mother that it would be a good idea for her to join the Order of the Phoenix.</p><p>"Mama, you didn't object at all when Edgar joined. You all think it's for a just cause."</p><p>"Yes, I do think so, <em>Ya Albi,</em> but you are very young, and Edgar is a much better fighter."</p><p>Louise pouted dramatically.</p><p>"But Klara's been in the Order for a year, and so have a whole bunch of our Gryffindor classmates." At this, Soraya Bones shot Klara a surprised look.</p><p>"Oh, Klara, <em>Azizti...</em>I wish you were not...The danger...It is doubly dangerous for you, with these blood purity fanatics. You are like a daughter to me, you know? You must be careful."</p><p>Klara could only give her nervous smile and shrug, even as her heart warmed.</p><p>"My mother had no objections, but of course she's a muggle, and doesn't really understand our world," Klara said diplomatically, earning her a narrowed glare from Louise.</p><p>"You see, Lulu, you see? Klara's mother does not object, whereas I do. <em>Avec véhémence</em>. It is dangerous, and I will not have all my children out there risking their lives! Back in Lebanon we stayed with our mothers until we were married, but now, where are my children? Amelia off who knows where with her Auror work, Edgar and Allan working in that high-security Potions lab, Edgar fighting in Dumbledore's organisation…Oh <em>mon coeur, je peux pas l'endurer…</em>Louise, you will not join this Order, <em>comprends? </em>Never!"</p><p>Mrs. Bones looked close to tears, and Mr. Bones was soothing her back now, looking over at Louise with a placating expression on his face.</p><p>Louise scowled, her dark brows pinching together.</p><p>"You say that, Mama, but you ran off with Dad even though <em>Teta </em>didn't—"</p><p>
  <em>BOOM!</em>
</p><p>The ground beneath Klara's feet quaked from the explosion, and then all was chaos. The air rang with the terrified shrieks of Edgar's children, punctuated by the Bones' Caterwauling Charm and shouts of confusion and anger. At once Klara was on her feet with her wand drawn, her body sensing the danger of Death Eaters before her mind knew to react. Through the haze of the explosion, she could see at least ten masked and hooded figures working their way into the garden. At once the thick air was lit by red and purple and green as spells shot from both sides.</p><p>Klara found herself duelling one Death Eater, then two, her nose burning and eyes watering from the smoke. She shot a string of broken plates at the Death Eater on the right, forcing him back. Then she cast the strongest Shield Charm she knew how and desperately locked her eyes into the mask openings of the Death Eater to her left. With a violence she'd never before used on any test subject, Klara shoved into his mind, seeing his consciousness flick before her eyes. She gasped.</p><p>"Silas Nott," she breathed, and saw his eyes open in surprise, but already she had seen what he intended next. Not knowing how else to stop him, she threw her body into his, making his spell shoot wide. With a rasping sigh of relief, she watched as Nott's Killing Curse missed Allan's pregnant wife, who was ushering her nieces and nephews towards a bird bath that had begun to glow blue.</p><p>"You deranged cunt," snarled Nott. He was half pinned to the scorched grass by her shoulder, but reached up and hit her across the face so hard she tasted blood. Before he could cast another spell at her, Klara jammed her elbow into his solar plexus, drawing a strangled grunt. But even as he lay there, grappling like a fish out of water, Klara felt herself being pulled to her feet by a strong, calloused hand, a gruff voice both distant and incredibly close yelling something in her ear.</p><p>Stumbling, head throbbing, the entire world spinning, she was pushed towards the glowing fountain. She lunged back at Nott, but someone grabbed her hand and held it like a vice against the cool marble. As she was sucked into the swirling vortex of the Portkey, Klara saw Mr. Bones nodding grimly at her, and from behind him, Silas Nott rose from the ground, green light exploding from his wand.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>"We testified against the bastard, you know." Louise had her hand on Klara's, small and warm. They were sitting very close, Louise' head resting on Klara's shoulder, both letting alcohol numb the pain of so many years past.</p><p>"We all saw Nott kill Dad that night, and Allan is sure he was there when they killed Edgar's whole family too. We all testified, Allan and Julia and me. Amelia tried all sorts of political coercion, but in the end none of it mattered. They chose to believe he was Imperiused, and that was that."</p><p>Silence, during which Klara could feel Louise studying her face.</p><p>"Even if you'd accused him of what he did to your family and how he kidnapped you, the result would have been the same. You know that, don't you?"</p><p>Klara heaved a trembling sigh.</p><p>"Yes. Yes I do."</p><p>This had nothing to do with Sirius, nothing to do with her years abroad, severed from all the goings on after the war. Even if she had sat in the witness box in 1981 and listed every crime Silas Nott had committed against her, he would have gotten off scot-free. The Notts were an old wizard family, with plenty of connections that reached deep in the Ministry. Klara was born to two muggle parents, and was familiar with how a society that valued bloodlines and affluence treated those who had neither.</p><p>Her brothers had shared more than a few stories about their peers at university, boys who were all privileged, who all bounded through life with a sense of entitlement to people without their status and connections. Young men who groped at waitresses in bars and expected an apology from the manager when the girl slapped their hands. Young men who raped drunk girls at parties and got off with a few months' probation after their MP fathers rang up the judge's chambers. Young men who faced no consequences for killing a pedestrian while driving drunk.</p><p>This was the way of the world, both muggle and wizard. If what remained of the Pureblood Bones family couldn't convict Nott, her own testimony would have been useless. No, they would need to convict Nott for something entirely new, and his current behaviour, despite his return to Voldemort's service, did not help this goal.</p><p>Not for the first time since her return, Klara wished he would just find her and corner her in some alleyway. She was certain her soul would sustain no damage if she "accidentally" killed him in self-defence.</p><p>Another silence, and then Louise looked up, her eyes hard and shiny like jade.</p><p>"I want to join the Order, Klara. I didn't before, because my mum was so vehement about forbidding it, but now…I want to help, Klara, and I want revenge." Her fist came down on the table, her knuckles white. "For my parents, for Edgar and his family. I want revenge."</p><p>"I know. That's what I told Dumbledore. He's agreed."</p><p>Louise gave a sharp, surprised laugh.</p><p>"You do know me better than I know myself. I hadn't decided until you came today."</p><p>"If I hadn't written to you, you'd have written to Dumbledore by now."</p><p>"Yeah, you're probably right. Is that why you came today?"</p><p>Klara gave her a little pinch.</p><p>"Is that what you think of me? I came because I wanted to see you. It's been so, so long."</p><p>"I know. I've missed you, love, I've missed my friend. And with Pandora gone these past five years, it's been…Oh, damn it, Klara, even with Oscar here I've felt so, so lonely."</p><p>Her voice broke, and Klara could do nothing but draw her friend close as she cried into her shoulder, blinking her stinging eyes. She smoothed Louise's hair and murmured comforting words to her, wanting desperately to bring Pandora's spirit into the room with them, fearing the painful chasm of her absence.</p><p>Five years prior, when she had been Caroline, she had read an obituary in the Prophet about a talented witch named Pandora Lovegood. Her home experiment had gone horribly wrong, and she had died in her home, survived by her husband and nine-year-old daughter. Caroline had merely frowned at the tragedy of such a young death and moved on to her day, but in the week when Klara first retrieved her identity, this one memory came driving into her, sharp and fast, leaving her winded and bloody.</p><p>Beautiful, otherworldly Pandora, who looked upon the world and saw only marvel and joy; who lived precisely as she was, said exactly what she meant, and never for a moment abandoned the truth of her real self. To think that this magical woman was no longer in the world, would no longer glide into a room, her brightly-patterned robes flowing behind her, and tell Klara to smile if for no other reason than to change her aura from grey to yellow…</p><p>Something in her chest broke.</p><p>Klara poured them both another drink.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>"What is her daughter like?" Klara asked after a long time, feeling the alcohol begin to wear off. Louise, whose red-rimmed eyes were beginning to return to their normal colour, smiled a radiant smile.</p><p>"Oh Merlin, little Luna really is something else. I think you'll love her. She's so like Pandora, but somehow…wackier? Must be all old Xeno's doing." Pandora's parents had all but disowned her and moved away to Sweden when she insisted on marrying the oddball that was Xenophilius Lovegood. Yet, he had made Pandora happy, and so Louise and Klara had tried very hard to connect with him. Very, very hard. With very little success.</p><p>"Do you see her often?" asked Klara, trying to picture a fourteen year old Pandora, but less ethereal, more downright eccentric.</p><p>"I'd definitely like to see her more, but Xeno brings her by often enough." Louise giggled. "She loves to paint, so we usually go up my studio and work on something she's brought while Oscar gets to entertain Xenophilius Lovegood for a few hours."</p><p>"Oh my, poor man. The Healer in him must find it torture, Xeno and all his theories about medicinal plants that don't exist."</p><p>"I know, bless him, but I do make it up to him, you know."</p><p>"Louise!" Klara let herself look most scandalised, widening her eyes as Louise wiggled her eyebrows.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>Klara stayed through an early lunch of open sandwiches spread thick with Louise's homemade hummus. Then they lounged in the kitchen in their post-meal stupor, laughing about their respective lives, catching up as if it had only been fifteen days rather than years since they'd lain eyes on one another. Finally, Louise narrowed a perceptive eye at Klara and let out a considering hum.</p><p>"What is it?"</p><p>"There is some other reason you're here today, isn't there?"</p><p>"I…what, no."</p><p>"Yes there is. Your eyes do that flicky thing when you get caught off guard."</p><p>"I…well…"</p><p>"A<em>ha! </em>Out with it then." Louise, alert once more, summoned a knife and plates and cut two pieces from Klara's apple strudel, eyes glittering with expectation. Klara heaved a defeated sigh. With all the emotional turmoil of the morning, she had thought to wait a few days before bringing this up. Her plan had many cogs, and Louise's part could wait.</p><p>But since Louise was determined to pull it out of her…</p><p>"I wondered if you could speak to your sister. About getting Sirius a trial."</p><p>Louise stared at her, mouth in a comically perfect "O." Her fork with strudel hovered halfway to her face.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>“Darling, I’m surprised you haven’t murdered him for what he did to you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Klara only shrugged. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I have been tempted, I assure you. But...well, I understand why he did it. And it’s not completely his fault I was stuck with the charm for fifteen years. He did get thrown in prison.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Louise arched a perfect eyebrow. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“That’s awfully diplomatic of you. You haven’t changed a bit.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It doesn’t mean I forgive him.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>In the past two days, Klara was finding it more and more difficult to summon up the burning, angry outrage she’d felt towards Sirius. Her rational mind would not stop justifying his actions and forcing her to understand them, to empathize, and she had no idea what to feel anymore. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Louise has narrowed her eyes, looking at Klara so closely she wanted to squirm. For a moment, she thought Louise would continue with her questioning.</p>
  <p>"I see,” she finally mused, something like comprehension settling in her eyes. Klara was certain she did not like whatever conclusions Louise had drawn, but her friend quickly changed the topic. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“But <em>n</em><em>ow</em>? You want to try getting him a trial <em>now? </em>Klara love, from what you've told me, I don't think anyone is going to acquit Sirius Black if Peter Pettigrew isn't found."</p>
</div><p>"<em>Now</em>? You want to try getting him a trial <em>now? </em>Klara, darling, from what you've told me, I don't think anyone is going to acquit Sirius Black if Peter Pettigrew isn't found."</p><p>Klara gave her a little smile.</p><p>"That bit I know how to handle. I have a whole plan laid out, actually, based on news I've had and what I know of people in the Ministry. Don't worry. So long as you can get Amelia to call a trial…do you think…?"</p><p>"Of course she would. We've talked about this before, me and her and Allan. When Sirius escaped? Even back then she thought something was a little off that Crouch never gave him a trial, but there were so many things she needed to deal with, and so much politics, you know how it is. Even Amelia has to play the game, as much as she hates it. Since you're asking though, she'd be happy to."</p><p>"No, no, you misunderstand. I don't want to make things difficult for her, not at all. The thing is, I think, given a little hint in the right direction, Fudge will be worshiping at her feet for calling a trial for Sirius."</p><p>"I'm sorry, Cornelius Fudge? With the way things are at the Ministry now? How…?"</p><p>And so, Klara told Louise of her plan for Sirius' acquittal, enhanced by the contents of Harry's letter that morning. When she was finished, both women were grinning mischievous grins at each other, revelling in the perfection of an intricate bit of scheming.</p><p>"I'll owl Amelia tonight. Merlin's beard on toast, Klara, you've really outdone yourself if you can get things to move as planned. How long have you been working this through?"</p><p>Klara opened her mouth, then decided to take a bite of strudel before answering.</p><p>"<em>Ahem. </em>Since I broke the memory charm," she finally said, sitting very straight and resolutely avoiding looking at Louise. "I remembered reading all about Sirius and his imprisonment when I was under the charm, not to mention the state of the Ministry now. It just didn't have significance to me until I remembered who I was again, and then…"</p><p>Klara shrugged. Louise have her a searching look.</p><p>"And so, you and Sirius…"</p><p>Klara held up her hand.</p><p>"There is nothing there between us. Not anymore."</p><p>"Mhmm. And yet you're spending all this time and energy getting him a trial?  Even though you’re still angry with him?”</p><p>Klara sniffed with mild indignation. She arranged herself in as dignified a manner as she could, as if everything about her situation was perfectly normal and controlled.</p><p>"It doesn't matter what we are or aren't, or whether I’m still angry. He's innocent, and he's suffered more than anyone should. He deserves to be proven innocent and see the light of day again. And I'm going to help him."</p><p>"Uh huh. Right. But you still love him, don't you?"</p><p>Klara nearly choked, then poured herself another large glass of arak, refusing to look at her friend. No. No she wasn't. She was absolutely not still in love with Sirius Black. She turned to look out the window, at a pair of goldfinches grooming one another on a swaying branch, the moving leaves casting dancing shadows on the ground.</p><p>"It's better this way, Louise," she said after a long silence. "There is no emotional obligation, no expectation. No possibility of hurting each other any more than we're already damaged."</p><p>Louise squeezed her arm, and Klara leaned into the comfort of her hand, warm and small and strong.</p><p>"It's not like you were "dating" or anything back then. What's the harm in continuing what you had before? Now, I'm still rather angry with him for messing with your life, but you're just torturing yourself, you know? You're bound to forgive him eventually, and when you do I think letting him in would do you some good."</p><p>"I…even back then, I felt so out of control. You don't understand, Louise, around him I lose all sense of reason. And he…well, it's pretty obvious what he was willing to do to keep me safe. With all the things I've got to do now, it's just easier this way."</p><p>"You're telling me you can keep your head on just because you're not actually jumping in bed with him? You think he doesn't still feel the same way about you, whether you're around or not?"</p><p>"It's easier to keep things contained, I think," Klara said quietly, hoping to convince herself as much as Louise. "I don't really know what he feels for me anymore. The thing is, one spark of kindling can grow into a roaring fire if left uncontrolled. Since I can't control this fire, best not to light a spark at all."</p><p>"Hmmm." Louise tilted her head, looking at Klara as if she were some insect pinned to a board, and Klara felt her neck prickle. It was so easy to forget how observant Louise could be when she chose.</p><p>"I'm all for the metaphors, obviously," she said, pointing her chin at the stained-glass storm. "But I'm not sure you're right about the spark comparison."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"If you're talking about how much you want to shag Sirius Black in terms of fire, I'm going to go ahead and say it's already a raging firestorm whether you want it there or not."</p><p>"Louise!" Klara felt the blood surge to her cheeks in a hot rush. Was she really so transparent? Had she really been bustling around the Grimmauld Place house with her simmering desire written all over her face? And to hear Louise put it in such a way…oh <em>God</em> she was going to die of mortification.</p><p>"Oh, relax, Klara. No one can ever read anything on your face, you know that. I just…" she smirked, "happen to know the signs to look for, that's all. You could say I 'speak' Klara Montagu."</p><p>"Very amusing."</p><p>"I know, I am, and you love me for it. Anyway, like I was saying, you want him, that's a given, so I think all you're doing now is trying to contain a fire with paper walls." She shrugged. "Obviously, it's not going to work."</p><p>Klara sat back in her chair and glared, trying not to think too deeply into Louise's reasoning lest she find some actual logic and become convinced.</p><p>"Nonsense. I can control my body perfectly well. And who says I'd be fool enough to build paper walls to hold in a fire?"</p><p>Louise gave her a look that was almost pitying, and Klara felt her exasperation rise. This conversation was turning out to be wholly unhelpful, though honestly, she should have expected this. Given the choice between "do" and "don't," Louise Bones had always chosen action.</p><p>"Darling, that's the only type of wall you're capable of building here. This metaphor is wearing itself out, but just remember this." She held up a finger, silencing Klara who had leaned forward again, about to contradict her. "I'm telling you now, 100%, that you'll fall into bed together sooner or later. It's inevitable, and you might as well give in now and make both your lives easier. In eight weeks or however long it takes you to cave under your self-inflicted torture, just remember, I told you so."</p><p>Klara set her mouth. Louise was wrong. So what if, of everyone in the world, Louise knew her best even after all the years apart? Louise did not know what she was talking about in this matter. Klara was not weak. She had plenty of self-control, and more than enough reason and logic not to give in to her raging firestorm of desire. She would proceed as planned, and Louise would simply be wrong.</p><p>She gave a hum of condescending dismissal, earning her an airy chuckle.</p><p>"Give me that haughty look all you like, Klara Montagu, but I know I'm right. And really, so do you."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Renewal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The spring after Klara's supposed "death," Sirius had spent many afternoons at the Potter's, minding Harry while his exhausted friends fit in a few hours of undisturbed sleep. There had been an echoing cavern where he used to feel things like anticipation and excitement, and only visits to the Potters seemed to add a touch of colour to his existence.</p><p>Lily had moved in all her muggle books from childhood, and Sirius often read aloud to the baby to amuse them both. Harry, despite his own limited vocabulary, seemed to particularly enjoy <em>Alice in Wonderland</em> and its sequel. Sirius, in turn, became acquainted with one of the odder creations of the muggle world.</p><p>In the days after Klara's visit with her friend Louise, Sirius walked about Grimmauld Place feeling rather like an Alice who had just fallen through a topsy-turvy looking glass. When she had said she was planning to redecorate, Sirius had thought she meant to move furniture around. Klara's idea of redecorating was nothing so mundane.</p><p>One afternoon, while Sirius and Remus finished scrubbing out the last bathrooms on the top floor, Klara's magically amplified voice floated in through the doors, asking Sirius to find her downstairs. Unsure what she had even been up to, he complied. When Sirius entered what was supposed to be his drawing room, he stopped as if he'd run into a wall. For a moment, he was certain he'd walked into someone else's house entirely, and nearly walked out again to make sure.</p><p>The darkly striped wallpaper was gone, the walls having been turned the lightest cream colour. The drapes were now a soft grey, and the glass-fronted cabinets were birchwood with gold detailing. The fireplace had been changed from black stone to a grey-veined marble, and the bulbous gas lamps and chandeliers were now tapered, dancing with sparkling magical flames. The armchairs and sofas, no longer grimy and misshapen, were cheerful and inviting with soft-looking fabric, coloured to match the room.</p><p>Turning to the wall that normally bore his family tree, Sirius saw that the tapestry now resembled an enchanted forest scene, complete with mythical flowers and a pair of unicorns resting among the trees.</p><p>In the middle of the room, perched on a cushy-looking ottoman, was Klara, twirling her wand and studying an enormous book on her lap. Beside her five other books lay scattered, equally enormous, open to various pages depicting design motifs and medieval art. She looked up and smiled serenely, as if she had not transplanted an entirely new room into his house.</p><p>"Ah, good. Sirius, I need your help with these ghastly serpent heads everywhere. I've been trying all sorts of charms to make them look like Flemish scrolls, but they won't budge." She pointed to the hardware on the sofa closest to her hand. Sirius felt his jaw go slack.</p><p>"You…Flemish…<em>what?</em>"</p><p>For a second, she tilted her head, puzzled by his bafflement. Then she seemed to follow his gaze around the room, and when she looked back at him, she was biting her very pink lip, almost nervous.</p><p>"I thought I'd start redecorating," she said unnecessarily, giving him a small shrug. "I hope you don't mind how much I've altered things. If you want I could—"</p><p>"No! I mean, no, this is…I just wasn't expecting…" Sirius swept his eyes around the room again, and felt his face break into a grin so wide his cheeks ached. "This is unbelievable. <em>You're</em> unbelievable. What did you need help with?"</p><p>Her cheeks darkened and a pleased little smile pressed at her mouth.</p><p>"These silver serpent heads. See, they're everywhere: on the sofa armrests, on the cabinets, on the lamps. Just transfigure them into something resembling this." She tapped her wand at where her book lay open to show a large scroll design, and Sirius crouched for a better look.</p><p>He smirked.</p><p>"What, you've transformed this entire room, not to mention that cursed tapestry, but you can't manage to change the serpent heads?"</p><p>Klara sniffed and turned her nose up.</p><p>"Naturally everything was done with permanent or self-renewing charms. These snakes are just impervious. I couldn't transfigure leather into velvet to save my life, and you know it."</p><p>"I still don't know how you managed to scrape an NEWT in Transfiguration."</p><p>Her dignified air evaporated. She shot him a serene smile, but her eyes lit with that mischievous triumph that had once accompanied their pranks and schemes.</p><p>"You and everybody else. Didn't you know? Louise started at betting pool in Ravenclaw about whether I'd pass. Made rather a killing, the conniving minx."</p><p>"You never told me how you did it."</p><p>"Oh, come now. If I've learned anything from you, it's how to charm a stranger."</p><p>Sirius felt his eyebrows climb up his face.</p><p>"Oh, you didn't! Is that even possible?"</p><p>She leaned towards him as if about to impart a secret, eyes sparking. For a moment, she let the question suspend between them, and Sirius found it suddenly hard to breathe.</p><p>"If I'm being honest…" she said, her voice dropping into a delicious register. Then she smirked back at him. "I have no idea. I'm certain I received a T in the practical. I just managed to ace the written exam is all."</p><p>Sirius felt himself smile reflexively, but as he met her very warm eyes, he felt his whole body freeze. She was so close like this, and even with his shallow breathes he could take in the velvet, woodsy smell of her hair. For a moment she was still laughing, that intimate curve of her bowed lips parted to speak. In the next instant, the shift in the air had caught up with her, and she too stilled, something darkening in her eyes. They stared at each other. Shared a single breath, then two.</p><p>Klara pulled back. He heard her jagged inhale as she looked away and smoothed her skirt over her legs. Sirius rocked back on his heals as if struck. He felt winded, like the grey reality setting in had knocked him square in the chest. When Klara looked at him again, her face had gone quiet, like the surface of an icy lake. Yet for a split second, he thought he saw regret under those still eyes.</p><p>But he was deluding himself. Hadn't he always done that with her, read and hoped too much into her words and tiny shifts of expression? Even when they were young, he hadn't known, not truly, where she'd stood on the spectrum between toleration and love.</p><p>How arrogant he was to hope for more now, when he had failed his friends, failed her—when he was as undeserving as he'd ever been. She said she trusted him, but trust was not forgiveness, and forgiveness was not love. For what he'd done, he deserved none of these.</p><p>Yet he still could not conjure a morsel of remorse, because at least his manipulation had prevented her sharing James and Lily's fate, even if he had not protected her entirely from danger. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Sirius had no idea how he would do it, but he had to see that nothing ever happened to Klara again. That was the only thing he had any right to do now.</p><p>Stretching an ugly, unnatural smile onto his face, Sirius pushed himself to his feet. He felt as if irons had been hung around his shoulders, but he stood anyway, and approached the silver snake's head she had pointed to.</p><p>"You said you needed help with these?"</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>Klara spent the days following her visit to Louise redecorating Grimmauld Place. In an attempt to bring Sirius out of the depression that his childhood home so obviously cast over him, she opted for a light and cheerful colour scheme, inspired entirely from various art and design books she had borrowed from her artist friend.</p><p>It was becoming obvious—not least because Sirius bemoaned his situation daily—that before her arrival, Sirius had literally been cooped up in a miserable house with nothing to do except lounge about with his Hippogriff and his nightmares. Klara found this entire situation beyond objectionable.</p><p>Remus was off on a short mission, and every day other Order members came through the house, busy with their work and reports and no doubt making Sirius feel terribly useless. Completely changing his surroundings would likely do him good, and to keep his mind occupied, she assigned him entire rooms to transfigure, though she often had to go over his work and re-charm wallpaper and furniture to look right.</p><p>To make matters more complicated, Klara had been appalled by her near slip with Sirius in the drawing room—really, she was past thirty, and such behaviour and impulses were unseemly, especially after she'd been so certain of herself in Louise's kitchen. More than ever now, she was determined to keep her interactions with Sirius cool and polite, even as she watched the disappointment he was unable to hide. Even as she lay awake at night, restless and irritated, the steady, intent look he had given her burning every time she closed her eyes.</p><p>Again, Klara felt the object of some cruel joke. It seemed the more she wished not to be in the same room with Sirius, the more she needed his transfiguration help. The more she tried to keep conversation polite and distant, the easier it was to slip and fall into that familiar, natural rhythm of teasing banter. Sirius noticed her distance, and she found herself ruthlessly ignoring the dull resignation in his eyes, reminding herself that this way was best for them both.</p><p>It was with a certain degree of relief, then, that Klara greeted her next visit to the Longbottoms. Her owl Franz had returned that evening, and after a long day of decorating, Klara shut herself into the library with the Longbottoms' files and her mountain of mind magic literature, trying to prepare for the healing session the next day.</p><p>If the unreasonable corner of her mind secretly wanted Sirius to interrupt and contrive to spend time together, it did not matter. He had disappeared upstairs after supper, and another bottle of liquor had vanished from the smoking room.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>
  <strong>July 23</strong>
</p><p>When Klara passed through St. Mungo's waiting room the next morning, the snippy blonde witch at the welcome desk stopped her with a sharp call of her name.</p><p>"Healer Montagu? That's you, isn't it?"</p><p>Klara whipped her head around.</p><p>"Yes, it is."</p><p>"Got a letter for you," she said, pulling out an envelope from a bottom drawer and waving it in her face. Klara didn't reach for it.</p><p>"Are you quite certain? Who would send me mail at St. Mungo's? I don't even work here."</p><p>"Well, I don't <em>know,</em> do I? Some bloke just walked in here like he was dreaming and asked me to hand you this. And you think I don't know you're not employed here? Had to keep this in my desk because you don't have a mailbox."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"Oh, Merlin, Morgan and the other bloke, just take your letter. I'm not a post owl. Can't you see I've got a room of patients? Next!"</p><p>And she flung the letter in Klara's face, waving her hand as if shooing away a fly. Too shocked to even be affronted, Klara obediently took the letter, slipped it absently into a robe pocket, and made her way to the stairs.</p><p>Upstairs, Klara was dismayed to see that Mrs. Longbottom had again brought Neville to St. Mungo's with her. The previous week, she had tried to hint that the woman might like to keep Neville at home—some patients' physical reactions to her healing charms could be alarming—but it seemed she either misunderstood or did not think it necessary to shield her grandson.</p><p>"Mrs. Longbottom, do you think Neville would like to have some tea and wait upstairs?" she tried a final time. She'd never had a child present for their parent's treatment, and the idea unsettled her. She looked over at Neville's face, and sure enough there was an instinctive relief that seemed to pass over his features.</p><p>Mrs. Longbottom, however, only sniffed, affronted, and from the corner of her eye Klara saw Healer Willoughby flinch.</p><p>"Why ever would he do that? These are his parents. He'll be responsible for them one day. He ought to be present for their treatment."</p><p>Klara did not turn from Neville's face, watching him with her professionally neutral expression.</p><p>"I…um…" As he looked between his grandmother and his parents, then back at her, Klara saw something crystallise in the boy's eyes. He set his jaw, as if steeling himself.</p><p>"I think Gran's right. I'll stay."</p><p>Klara gave him a small smile. Very well then. Like parents like son. Frank and Alice were never ones to shy away from the uncomfortable and frightening.</p><p>"Very well. This first series of tests will target the neurone networks in the somatosensory and prefrontal cortices. I'll be trying various tissue-repair charms, reviving charms, and physical stimuli to see what kinds of potions might be useful."</p><p>"When they were first brought into hospital," said Mrs. Longbottom, looking dubious, "the Healers tried all sorts of potions and charms. Nothing worked. They said there was nothing they could do."</p><p>"I'm sure they did everything within their power," Klara said slowly, careful not to issue blame. "In their charts, I saw the Healers used a wide range of physical healing charms, but when cast without Legilimency, these usually aren't concentrated enough to make a difference on the neurone level. I will be using a specialised technique."</p><p>This seemed to satisfy Mrs. Longbottom, who nodded and leaned imperiously back into her chair. Neville, however, had scrunched his brow hard, looking as if he desperately wanted to ask a question, but could not muster the resolve. Klara turned to him, trying for an inviting expression.</p><p>"Do you have any more questions before I begin?"</p><p>There was a moment of dense silence before Neville spoke.</p><p>"When you say you'll use potions…does that mean…I mean, there was that time last year, when my mum needed to be calmed down, and…it was terrible."</p><p>His eyes had grown huge, and even as Mrs. Longbottom scolded Neville for bringing up the unpleasant episode, Klara realised exactly to what he had been referring. The most recent anomaly in Alice Longbottom's chart had been an entry in March of the previous year.</p><p>During a visit with the patient's son, the report said, something the boy said must have triggered a violent reaction in her brain. She began first to rock back and forth, making hoarse wailing sounds. Then, at a touch on her shoulder, she had torn off down the ward, pounding on the door and trying to get out. It had taken two Healers to restrain her, and a third had "forcibly administered a calming draft", after which she fell into unconsciousness. All this had played out before her young son's eyes.</p><p>Klara bit back her scowl. She did not like to make moral judgements on the methods of her colleagues, but really, some of these practices were barbaric. And to do this in front of her son? Alice was a woman who'd lost her sanity, not some wild beast. If the Healers hadn't done damage to their patient—and that was rather a big "if" in Klara's opinion—they'd certainly done damage to Neville.</p><p>She sighed. If she managed to make some progress with the Longbottoms, perhaps St. Mungo's might reconsider their complete disregard for mind medicine. But then again, the British wizarding establishments were nothing if not obstinately conservative, and most people still doubted the very existence of mental illness. If the use of simple Muggle remedies like stitches were still shocking, she doubted she could convince the hospital's board to add a department for mental health.</p><p>"You needn't worry, I promise," said Klara, putting on her reassuring smile. "We've found in our research that any sort of physical force and restraint can actually cause further trauma, so it's not part of my personal practice. I've never needed to physically restrain a patient, and I don't intend to start with your parents."</p><p>It did not matter that she'd never dealt with cases of trauma as bad as the Longbottoms'. Their minds still resembled minds, and Klara knew how to calm and soothe any human brain.</p><p>"Have I answered your question? Please don't hesitate to ask if there's anything else I can clarify. I want you to feel as comfortable as possible with this whole process."</p><p>At Neville's little shake of the head, Klara nodded.</p><p>"I will start again with the somatosensory cortex, where the damage originated."</p><p>Again she sat in the armchair facing Frank, this time with her wand notched under his chin. Ateeling herself against the onslaught of Frank's mind storms, she dove in.</p><p>She eased herself first into the sedate, barren wasteland of his somatosensory cortex. Thankfully, she would not have to deal too heavily with any unstable elements today. Professor Kowalski had expressed her bewilderment at the destruction of those storms, and had advised Klara to await her detailed review of the Pensive notes before attempting tests in that region.</p><p>Klara was not inclined to argue. After that first session, she had no desire to interact more than necessary with those violently swirling shards of memory.</p><p>They frightened her and stirred her panic, not only because she had never seen anything like them, but more so because of the way Frank's mind had cut into hers, pulling her own darkest memories, though she had thought them securely contained. She had rarely felt so out of control, and the feeling made her ill.</p><p>Though no longer a surprise, the wasteland of shrivelled neurones and connecting axones that greeted her mind's eye still drew from her a brittle breath. A cold weight settling in her stomach, she approached the closest tangled mass in an area meant to transmit sensation from the right arm.</p><p>Up close, the damaged neurones varied in colour from charred black to that light beige taken on by dead flower stalks. Though some threads resembled lifeless plants, other areas were so charred from the burn of prolonged overstimulation that Klara expected them to crumble into soot.</p><p>Most, however, had the distinct look and texture of earthworms that had dried on hot pavement. The image, now stuck fast to her mind, made the weight churn nastily in her stomach as she approached.</p><p>She began with general tissue-repair charms. This sort of targeted charm work required a special sort of focus. She lightly formed the <em>Episky </em>spell in her own mind, not casting it outright, but instead feeling the magic gather at the tip of her wand like blowing air into a delicate balloon.</p><p>Focusing on the shrivelled knot before her, she directed the magical energy at the damaged neurones, seeing the glowing burst of the spell in her mind's eye. The controlled ball of energy soared up from the mind's floor and settled in the targeted knot, and Klara let out the tense breath she had been holding in concentration.</p><p>The axons seemed to glow warm for a few seconds, taking on the colour of red baked earth, then returned to their deadened state. It seemed this most simple of healing spells had no lasting effects, but she had expected as much. This was only the beginning.</p><p>Beside her, she heard various intakes of breath. From the outside, it would appear that spots were lighting up on top of Frank's head, and Klara hoped their reactions would not escalate when her ministrations began activating Frank's motor reflexes.</p><p>In the same concentrated manner, she began cycling though the usual spells she'd used on damaged brains over the years: Charms to reknit the complicated protein mesh that made up neurones. Charms that mimicked the fatty makeup of the myelin sheaths. Charms that triggered the body's own recovery mechanisms. She then moved on to reviving charms and potions testing.</p><p>Frank's mental structures responded with various changes in temperature, colour, and shape—the knot even began to unravel itself, as if coming back to life, when she attempted a particularly sharp reviving charm—but the results were mostly as she feared. Minimal, temporary, and unlikely to lead to any visible change.</p><p>Over the years, Klara had treated various patients with sensory neurones damaged by a whole range of spells. However, they had been concentrated cases, and none had been the victim of prolonged Cruciatus exposure. The contrast was stark.</p><p>After an hour of testing, she had failed to elicit any reflexive movements from Frank's arm. Never before had she treated a patient with such thoroughly burnt nerve tissue, and never before had she failed to stimulate physical reflexes. Yet, all was not hopeless. Towards the end, the physical test mimicking the effects of potions seemed to trigger lasting changes in the colour and texture of her test field.</p><p>The area she had been targeting looked smoother now, maybe even glossy, and Klara was certain she had not imagined the subtle shifting of light, which indicated a slight return of electric signalling. This was an excellent development, naturally. Nonetheless, she found herself stifling a groan. It was just her luck. The damage in Frank's brain was too great for charms alone.</p><p>At Hogwarts, Klara had always been honest about her strengths, and equally so about her limitations. What was true Ravenclaw intelligence if not the unflinching knowledge of self? She was a good student—studious and a lover of books— and a fine witch, but certain subjects required a particular frame of mind she simply did not possess. Transfiguration was one of them. Potions was another.</p><p>She had no instinct for the "art" of brewing potions. In the same way her brother Hart could never get maths concepts to click with his brain, Klara never could internalise the patterns of smells, colours, and vapours that seemed to guide natural Potioneers. If given exact instructions and plenty of time to fail a certain recipe, she could train herself to make specific potions of a passable quality, but nothing more.</p><p>It was with this rote, tedious method that she passed her various Potions exams, and it was with this method that she still made any potion required for her patients. (Apothecary Healers could not be trusted to properly make mind potions, even in Austria.)</p><p>Klara had rather thought, with Nott and Voldemort and manipulating Fudge, that she had enough unpleasant endeavours awaiting her in the near future, but it seemed she would need to add another. She hoped Sirius would not mind her turning one of Grimmauld Place's magically enlarged guest rooms into a lab. Like it or no, she would have to make potions for the Longbottoms.</p><p>Thankfully, she had a much easier time with Frank's prefrontal cortex, despite the extended damage. These areas of tissue, though they looked the worse for wear, were infinitely more sensitive to her testing.</p><p>A simple <em>Rennervate</em> managed to flood colour and gloss over a small stretch of neurones, and another stimulation spell in Broca's area had Frank beginning to recite the alphabet backwards, albeit in a blurred monotone. In the room, she heard a more agitated series of gasps.</p><p>His chart had noted that Frank very rarely spoke, and when he did it was always in short, single words that rarely made sense. This was definitely the most promising thing that had happened all day, and Klara couldn't stop her smile. When Frank stopped speaking, a heavy silence clung to the air for a moment, and then the questions came.</p><p>"Was…was that really…I've never heard Dad speak for so long before." Neville's voice sounded flimsy, and over it, Klara could hear the heavy breathing from Mrs. Longbottom.</p><p>"This is a good sign. It does not mean he will suddenly start speaking, but it does mean he still has the capability. This is a very good sign."</p><p>And so Klara continued her tests, taking careful Pensieve notes. Though a seemingly uniform mass of desolation, different parts of the prefrontal cortex reacted to her test in different ways, and for the millionth time in her career, Klara marvelled at the hidden variety in the human brain.</p><p>She found that the areas responsible for memory formation and decision making were most sensitive to charm work, that those controlling emotional responses and rational thought could be stimulated into various stages of self-repair, and that those controlling strategic processes and impulse control seemed imperious to any spells.</p><p>When an enlarging spell bounced off this last area and nearly shot back into her own mind, Klara could barely keep from jolting out of Frank's brain. Frowning, hoping the others hadn't noticed her shock, she pawed around the neurones, looking for physical anomalies. Suddenly, the reason for the rebound dawned on her, so very obvious.</p><p>"Mrs. Longbottom," she said when she had finally vacated Frank's mind. "In our next session, would you be so kind as to bring Frank's and Alice's wands?"</p><p>Her sharply angled brows pointed towards her hairline, her forehead crinkling like tissue paper.</p><p>"Whatever would you need those for? Surely you can't make them do magic somehow?" The horror in the tone was nearly palpable. Ah. So Klara had thoroughly shocked her and her understanding of mind magic.</p><p>Klara smiled politely. She was not going to mention that anyone capable of casting the Imperius Curse could do precisely this. Instead, she explained,</p><p>"Nothing of the sort. It is only that the parts of Frank's brain that were most active in casting spells are now nearly impossible to work with. The spells I cast all bounced off without absorbing, and I am fairly certain it's because he doesn't have contact with his wand."</p><p>At everybody's skeptical looks, Klara continued her theory.</p><p>"You see, these areas are wired from an early age to channel magic through a connection with a wand core. I believe that, without his own wand present to open up the pathways, in Frank's condition they are impervious to any magical stimulation." Klara paused, wondering if continuing would undermine their confidence in her abilities. She decided that she owed the truth to the proud elderly witch and her brave grandson.</p><p>"Of course, as I have never needed to repair these specific regions of a patient's brain, I don't know anything for certain. However, I do have a lot of confidence in my hypothesis."</p><p>Another pause.</p><p>"As you've likely surmised, Mrs. Longbottom, I have never seen patients with damage nearly as extensive as Frank's and Alice's. I have never heard of patients who've endured this much Cruciatus damage and lived. With their minds, I am venturing into territory our field has never before encountered, and I must tell you that nothing I do here will yield certain results. I can only act to the best of my ability. Everything will be exploratory."</p><p>In the silence that followed, punctuated only by Healer Willoughby's nervous shuffling, Klara looked into Mrs. Longbottom's hard, drawn face. Beside her, Neville, who had been looking at her, eyes huge, had shifted his gaze to his mother as she flitted about the room, examining the wallpaper.</p><p>Finally, Mrs. Longbottom sighed.</p><p>"I suppose I had expected as much. No matter. Frank and Alice are survivors. It's only fitting they should survive what other people can't."</p><p>She turned her assessing gaze to Neville, who quickly snapped his head back to look at her.</p><p>"Neville is using Frank's wand," she said, turning back to Klara. "I believe he has gotten used to it, but if you really need it for your treatments, I will get him a new one."</p><p>Klara couldn't help her frown. She knew little about wand lore, but surely using someone else's wand was not ideal for any wizard. Not for the first time, her mind was flooded with questions about how little Neville Longbottom had been brought up all these years, effectively an orphan and living under the care of a most imposing woman.</p><p>But like so many matters, it was not her place to say anything, and so Klara simply nodded.</p><p>"That would be ideal, I think. It would do Frank and Alice good to have their wands near, even if they aren't using them."</p><p>The rest of the morning blurred by as Klara repeated her tests on Alice's brain, and by the time she left the hospital, she was feeling as if she had not slept in days. And yet, she walked briskly, energetically, because beyond fatigue, she was hopeful. Klara could not wait to write Professor Kowalski with her new notes.</p><p>Even though Dumbledore had implied the return of two talented fighters to the cause against Voldemort would be most fortuitous, Klara rather thought most important thing was for Neville Longbottom to have entities resembling parents once more.</p><p>And, despite her warnings to Augusta Longbottom, it seemed, as the morning had worn on, that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance Frank and Alice could regain, if not their full motor skills, then a majority of their personalities.</p><p>O~O~O~O~O</p><p>Sirius and Remus lounged in their usual spots in the kitchen, the remains of their breakfast strewn about the table. Rain pelted the high windows, the constant drum filling the empty kitchen. Remus, who had returned from a short mission to Wales that morning, rocked back and forth on his chair in a contented stupor, looking as if he would fall asleep right there.</p><p>Sirius was glowering into the dregs of his coffee, the familiar frustration at his uselessness once again rearing its insufferable head. Elphias Doge had stopped by first thing in the morning. After being assured by Walburga's screaming that this was indeed the right house, he had informed a scowling Sirius that Silas Nott had once again gone missing.</p><p>"I haven't seen him or his son leave the manor since last Friday," Doge had reported over tea, shaking his head and smacking his lips. "There's no movement in the house, so they must have left, but we've been looking all over the country to no avail. No houses with unknown owners and an unexplained magical presence, according to Dumbledore."</p><p>"He must be going abroad, then," said Remus, while Sirius gritted his teeth.</p><p>"I suppose he must be connecting his Floo abroad without Ministry knowledge," agreed Doge. "Still, we have no idea where he goes or why, and I haven't a clue as to how we should find out."</p><p>"Damn it!" Sirius had slammed his mug onto the table, sloshing hot coffee onto his hand, but he barely felt the burn. "Damn it to hell, I should be out there looking for him. He could be attacking Klara at the hospital right now."</p><p>The idea crystallised into graphic images the moment the words left his mouth, and at once Sirius had wanted to lunge for the door. Remus grabbed his sleeve, and for a second he tried to break free, cold fear running down his back like summer rain and urging him out the house.</p><p>"Now, now, Black, no need to worry about that at the moment. The magical tracking spells we’ve attuned to known Death Eaters in Diagon Alley and St. Mungo's are all functional. Every time any of them visits these places, we know. Nott definitely hasn't appeared."</p><p>Despite his reassurances, Sirius had glared at Doge for the rest of his visit, though the little old man, to his credit, hadn't let it bother him one bit. Sirius' reason told him that yes, Klara was relatively safe at St. Mungo's, but what about her trip back here? She'd always perversely liked walking in the rain. What if she insisted on walking back, and Nott accosted on her way? What if he had somehow figured out she was living at Grimmauld Place, and waited for her just on the corner?</p><p>And yet here he was, unable to leave. Unable to do anything to protect her. He had promised Dumbledore, later Remus, and most recently Klara herself that he would stay put, but the chains of his helplessness seemed to grow ever tighter around his body. It was hard to breathe.</p><p>Sirius heard himself let out a low growl, and across the table Remus started at the sound. Looking up, he saw his old friend, scruffy as always, half asleep with his scarred face resting in that expression of cozy contentment Sirius knew so well. How many times had he seen young Remus like this near the full moon, so tired by growing wolf agitation that he dozed off at mealtimes? Out of nowhere, a great surge of affection glowed in his chest, easing away some of his clawing frustrations.</p><p>"Oi, Moony," he said, his voice leisurely. "If you're going to sleep you might as well get yourself to your bed. Klara's charmed the mattresses too. They feel like clouds."</p><p>Remus half-raised one eyelid, a ghost of a smile lifting his cheeks.</p><p>"I can't believe how much she's managed to change this house. I've only been gone a few days," he said, rubbing his eyes.</p><p>Sirius made an indignant sound.</p><p>"I'll have you know, I did half the redecorating. She couldn't have done it alone."</p><p>"Yes, of course, Padfoot. Good on you. Job well done."</p><p>"Yes, I rather think it is, thank you."</p><p>A short laugh. Remus opened his mouth and closed it again. It was a few moments before he spoke.</p><p>"Have all the changes…I mean, have you been sleeping better?"</p><p>Sirius gave him a sharp look.</p><p>"Don't know what you're talking about. I've always slept just fine."</p><p>"Come on, Sirius. Please don't lie to me."</p><p>Sirius returned to studying his coffee dregs.</p><p>"I'm sleeping just fine," he muttered stubbornly. "Besides, it doesn't exactly matter how I sleep. It isn't as if I've anything useful to do with my day."</p><p>"<em>Ding!"</em></p><p>Before Remus could say any more, he was interrupted by the muffled ring of the front doorbell. <em>Buggering hell. </em>In the sliver of silence, both Sirius and Remus cursed under their breathes, and then Walburga's voice was booming through the house, her words perfectly intelligible even through the floorboards.</p><p>"Right. You get up to bed. I'll go meet whoever's at the door." And with that Sirius bounded ahead of Remus and up the stairs, pushing all bitterness and despondency to the back of his head.</p><p>In the past weeks, Sirius had learned to hear his mother's screamed words without really understanding them. Her repetition of the same few insults made this easy, and everything about the situation was less infuriating this way. Today, however, she was diverging from her usual script, and it took some moments for Sirius to process her words.</p><p>"…AND HOW DARE YOU RETURN HERE, TRAITOROUS WHORE! SHAMEFUL ROTTON FRUIT OF MY AUGUST LINEAGE! YOU'VE LONG LOST THE RIGHT TO ENTER THE HOUSE OF YOUR NOBLE ANCESTORS…"</p><p>Frowning, understanding still elusive, Sirius half jogged towards Walburga's portrait. He couldn't think straight with her noise, and it was with great effort that he forced the curtains closed. Restored to tranquility once more, Sirius now turned to the cloaked figure who had entered the front hall and was stashing their umbrella in the new stand.</p><p>He stopped, his limbs suddenly stiff, his mother's words just sinking in. <em>Traitorous whore…your noble ancestors. </em>The set of her shoulders, the curve of her jaw—the entire aura of this woman. He would recognised it anywhere.</p><p>She looked up at him, a tentative smile on her face.</p><p>"Cousin," said Andromeda Tonks. "It's been far too long."</p><p>Her voice quivered.</p><p>And before Sirius knew what was happening, she had brushed a quick kiss on his cheek and pulled him into a tight embrace, her arms wrapped almost vice-liked around him. Never in his life had he seen Andromeda cry, not once, even in the family's must turbulent years; but here, in the newly bright hallway of their ancestral home, Sirius could only hold his cousin, dumbstruck, as she sobbed into his shoulder.</p>
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